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Once upon a time I visited a Real Witch. She lived deep in the woods. To reach her little home I had to park my ancient 280Z in a vast field of tall yellow mustard plants. I trudged through the masses of flowers and bees, climbed over a splintery locked wooden gate and found my way deep into and through a forest of peeling eucalyptus trees.
Finally, I spotted the tiny house. I rapped on it's door, my heart beating rapidly like a tin drum being beaten hard. The witch that answered my knock was bent and old. She was dressed all in black with ropes of brassy metal and sparkling pentagrams dangling and clanking from her wrinkled neck. Her hair was long, tangled and black with an inch of white at the roots.
I was very scared.
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