#134323 - As if the smells themselves were trying to get in as much as they could before the summer warmth waned. He’d spark up light conversation with those within earshot of him and sometimes would come across someone of the sweeter persuasion that fancied him and a bit of flirting would take place. When the summer ended this year Jack thought he had just about finished writing his story and by the time the leaves turned from green to hues of gold, red and combinations in between, he was ready to send his manuscript off to his agent.
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