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He stares up at the sign, tears streaming. Arthur “Pantless” Jackson smiles. The search has taken him 10 years and to 14 countries. He opens the door. The clerk looks up from his phone. “Can I help you?” he asks. “Yes,” says Arthur, “I’m Jackson, and I believe you have my pants.”

“Good day, sir. I’d heard you’d recently come into possession of some bread. I see that I was not misinformed. As it so happens, I too enjoy baked goods. Might you be persuaded to part with a small percentage? I would of course offer fair compensation at the current market rate.”

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