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Mojo


by Lorenzo Baehne


I think I lost my mojo. Like a quarter fallen through a hole in my pocket. I'll dispatch a search party. Perhaps they'll find it beneath a bush, huddled against the cold, trembling and goose-fleshed. Or perhaps they'll turn up nothing, and many years will pass. And one day, long from now, with not a compass to plot its course, the magic that was once mine will find itself a wanderer among its brethren, who likewise are far from home.

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