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Curtis stood alone in the car park, dressed in the cumbersome dinosaur outfit. He checked his watch again, the fourth time in five minutes, irked at how slowly the hands moved. His breath billowed out in the cold evening air; he smiled when he thought it looked like cigarette smoke.

A gang of kids passed him, some on bicycles. ‘Tosser!’ they shouted at him. Curtis tried not to notice.
He’d definitely said 8.30pm at the town library.
He gritted his teeth at the cold, and rammed his hands into his pockets.

Why does no-one flash mob anymore?, he thought.

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