Its five oh seven and two pair of shoes lay upon my workspace.
I should probably be getting home, but the guilt of tasks neglected keeps me from leaving just yet.
Anyhow, the traffic is only going to annoy me and I'll get home at the same time whether I leave now or half an hour from now.
Seventeen dogs are barking outside Barkers' corner sandwich studio.
The butcher takes bread and dips it in grease before he throws it to them, and in the ensuing scrum, the dogs begin to question the wisdom of fighting for their bread.
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