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Text Transformation.  

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Text Transformation Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Nothingness. The ill fitting flowered curtains, thin and frayed, danced sadly in the wind as the old man slipped in and out of his vacant dreams. His wrinkled, grey expression remained inert and morose. Time goes by and his sizeable feet land on the ground and pace the carpeted floor without excitement or purpose. His toes guided him towards the stiff, upright chair similar to its electric variety. From where he sat he could see a narrow strip of the tussocky land outside. Legs running in and out of view. A dog. A child's bicycle. Litter blowing aimlessly over coarse grass. This at least distracted him from the thin floral curtains. His limbs bent and ached into a sitting position. Slow fingers gripped ordinary shoes. Shoes that didn't attract attention. Layer upon layer of starchy cotton engulfed his sagging skin like a body bag. Ringless fingers...

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