Long time ago,    When the oceans were of a safe level,  When the greenness of the trees overshadowed the concrete of the buildings,   When the air we breathed was, in fact, air we breathed and not a toxic mixture of many,   There lived a trickster who was famous for one of his many tricks.    Lovingly referred to as Mr Trick,   He preferred a name that did a one above, Trick-Master.   He lived under a grassy hill,   Away from most of the population,   But his jovial self could not stay away from the crowd for long;   Because as night fell,  His legs did, too; his hands tinkled, for   The result of his daily trick lit a fire in him such that it must, it should, be satiated immediately.    Every evening he would take a walk around the market,  People would greet him, scream a warning, “Mr Trick is here!”  And hide, they would, but only from his gaze.    His gaze held the power of the trick.   Look at them directly and lo!...
 
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