The man drove his lawn-mower across his immaculate lawn in his immaculate yard in his immaculate neighborhood. He had a feeling that he didn’t have to do this, a feeling that the lawnmower was just for show, a feeling that, just like everything around him, he didn’t have to maintain it. After all, this world was ever timeless, never changing. But he knew that if he stopped, he would succumb to the madness that even now came rapping, rapping at his chamber door. “Quoth the Raven, evermore”

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