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The Nice Guy -- Excerpt from Chapter

Chapter 7


A translucent haze drifted sluggishly, silently, on unseen lazy currents of air, like smoke from a dozen campfires. Ethereal figures glided periodically disturbing the milky fog. Nothing was opaque but nothing was clearly seen and whatever might be lurking behind the fog remained hidden. The air was antiseptic, a faint smell of alcohol and bleach lingered. A silent ‘beeping’ far in the distance could scarcely be noticed. The illumination was that similar to an evenly lit photographer’s studio, bright but soft, apparent but not aggressively noticeable.

The dreamlike scene was scarcely observed though lowered eyelids. Tiny slits appeared as his eyes resisted a feeble attempt to open. There was not a single thing that was recognizable. Ambiguous, vague, indistinguishable. It all hovered unbearably in a leisurely flow.

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