Max Anthony Sphere Is My Brother — Part 2

The doorbell rang melodiously (vaguely reminiscent of a cinnamon-sweet leitmotif from one of Wagner’s better operas). Dutifully serenated, the little street where John lived was yawning and stretching lazily, and as John rushed to the entrance, a shaft of light generously provided the playground for recessing dust motes, some engaged in cowardly acts of bullying, while, looking yonder, others played hopscotch hurriedly.

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