The sun was slowly dying, collapsing, coming to a halt. Tyrone was walking along the wet pathway, when a $10 note flew past his ankles. The drowning sun shimmered an uncanny purple on the puddles that dotted the old bitcherman road. Without a second thought, Tyrone reached down, and grabbed the note, his fingers gliding through the puddle it was floating on. What would he do with this money?Pay back the stolen apple? Buy more food, something essential, maybe? A sudden rush of cars sped past, obviously eager to be home. Then it hit Tyrone-- a taxi. He would pay for a taxi ride further south, to Newsborne. Tyrone whistled and waved, half thinking that nobody would pick him up. After about 5 minutes, an old looking Taxi pulled up. The man inside looked Arabian, or of some kind of Eastern country. "You lakka da taxi ride, eh?" Tyrone hesitated, then answered; "Umm, yeah, to N..Newsborne." "Aaaah kanna do dat, eh?"
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