As close as berets and machine guns go, the Claus has pickets and witty ones for. Round and round the tip curve lead. Flat and round the base turned and fed. Into the line of sight the moving ducks bide....
Broken into pieces, he knew his time was up. Some distant flicker of hope, it burned in light blaze. Visible as a dot, that seldom others try to reach for. His time was up yet naught he eyed his watch....
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