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117. Local Explorers

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“Nothing is real if you cannot see it,” mother said as I came running to the bedroom, younger brother in tow, with a story of the neighbourhood. Mr. Crawley emerged from a manhole, rats clinging to his trousers and black shit on his bald head. He had been helping convicts escape from the Central Jail, nearby. The news channels blocked our entire road. An intricate maze of secret tunnels was discovered and the police were not allowing anyone down there. My brother and I decided to explore them, before they sealed it off, and bring back photographic evidence for mother lying in bed.

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