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Opening Lines

The monkeys, their muscular backs slick with oil, howled at the boatman.

The monkeys, jetpacks strapped tightly to their backs, readied themselves for flight.

The monkeys, undeterred by the snow, glared at the pile of meat in the corner.

The monkeys, swaying to the pulse of the bass track, gathered around the burning pyre.

The monkeys, hardened by a year of dusty travel, put on their work boots and limped to the dining room.

The monkeys, still grieving the loss of their trainer, laughed at the site of the new one.

The monkeys, heads bowed in prayer, trembled as the tip of the pyramid cracked and fell away.


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