Lizards.

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Zinc figures emerge from cradle-rocking mist. They are bluffing, of course. There are no back-up plans rolled up in their back pockets, no call-out plans, no recitals blandly reclining in an unobtrusive manner in their back pockets. No, cash in hand, they delightfully extricate themselves from the mist. Oh, how they smile and cough out zinc laughter from between gritted teeth

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