Crease

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We went out for breakfast. Through the market we sampled the produce and grabbed a few things. We stopped a glass of beer, sitting out in the morning sun. It was just after 9am and it felt like Spring. It felt good. An old man hand-cranked a mechanical organ with one hand as he fed it music with the other. The yellowed creased cardboard tablature dropped to a shelf, folding itself into a neat stack. The music looked older than both the man and machine.

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