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  • Amongst cliveo's friends, a tribe threatening to overpower his acquaintances, there was yet to be a consensus on the pronunciation of his final vowel. For some it was an expression of surprise; for others a swoon of satisfaction; but for his wife, it was always the same.

    "Oh, you're going out on your bike again."

    "A pink-faced fat man like me needs to ride as much as he can, dear."

    "Oh… right."

    "And my bikes demand to be ridden."

    "Oh, is that what I need to –"

    But cliveo was already out the door, his leg over the latest model, grinding his way to the meat market.

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