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His long sleeves cuffed to his elbows exposed handwritten notes that ran up the skin of his forearms. He scanned the room, his brown-eyed stare half concealed by the tilted brim of his hat. The tip of his pen followed the curl of his mustache as he searched his mind, trying in vain to make sense of the ramblings that had just flooded his page. He was a maker of stories, and himself a story in the making.