Kabaraja Jabaraja stood on top of a chair, flummoxed. Nobody realized exactly how much work went into maintaining the polish and shine of the Quicksand and some joker was intentionally trying to make the job harder. For the fourth time this sevenday, Kabaraja was working diligently to erase the four letters joined inside of a crudely drawn heart from one of the center pillars of the bar.
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