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I was a statue, haunted by the phantom of my former self, metal handle tight between my fingers as I grimaced at the students who passed.

Suddenly, as if the universe had heard me, a MasterChef audition invite arrived in my inbox.

I thought he was mere folklore — a boogeyman, a myth that goes bump(?) in the night.

To the fridge I head, seeking the only comfort this pale life offers me.

It's brother-against-brother, cats-eating-their-own-young, neighbors-knocking-over-each-others-bins-and-blaming-raccoons — society!?

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