Mark is used to busking on street corners, something he's done in every state except Hawaii, and most of the Canadian provinces - but it's one thing to play for one or a couple of people at a time, or a few, and another to play for a crowd. Granted, there aren't a huge amount of attendants at Phoenix Books for open mic night, due to social distancing restrictions - Anthony and Sören are only allowing a maximum of a dozen people, first come first serve - but Mark still feels nervous about performing the way he hasn't in a long time. It's a paradox, to be a musician who wants people to hear and be touched by his music, and is still shy about the spotlight.
Anthony disappears for a little while before it starts, and comes back with Sören's pottery wheel and a bag of clay. "I'm going to throw a vase while you play," Sören explains. He bites his lower lip, which Mark finds adorable even though Mark doesn't want to notice him like that. "Your music is, ah, inspiring."
Mark feels even more nervous now. He's seen Sören's art in the gallery corner of the shop, including his ceramics. It's like playing for Van Gogh or Monet as they work. It's like playing for his father in the forge. Mark feels honored, but the pressure is really on.
You can do this, he tells himself, taking deep breaths.
As he sits with his guitar, he takes a moment to read the room. While he's played original compositions at the beach or in front of Sören and Anthony, it feels too intimate for tonight. But he doesn't mind playing the songs of others - he makes them his own. The small crowd is evenly split between Gen Xers, millennials, and zoomers, so Mark decides 80s pop songs and 90s grunge with a little 70s classic rock is probably fine. The 90s was the last time he kept up with what was current for music, so he doesn't know enough about what's popular now, but he knows there's 80s nostalgia with the younger generations.
He starts with "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana, and follows with "Black" by Pearl Jam.
Sheets of empty canvas
Untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me
As her body once did
All five horizons
Revolved around her soul
As the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed
Has taken a turn
He thinks of the last time he had a mortal partner... and then he thinks of Sören's art, Sören himself, beautiful as he shapes the clay on the wheel. His cheeks burn. He's been dragging his feet looking for a farm to work at with harvest season just around the corner, not wanting to leave Sören and Anthony behind. He's attached to them, and he hates that. He doesn't want to keep making attachments and having to break them, or have them be broken with the inevitable of mortality. His grief comes out in his voice, and he sees eyes misting up.
I know someday you'll have a beautiful life
I know you'll be a star
In somebody else's sky
But why
Why
Why can't it be
Oh can't it be mine
Mark holds back his own tears. Tears unnumbered ye shall shed. Whatever blood is on his hands, it seems that the curse of loving and losing, alone again and again, is a punishment far exceeding his crimes.
He follows up with something happier, so he doesn't break down in front of all these people - "What I Got" by Sublime. Anthony grins, and Mark wonders what Anthony's teenage years were like. Then "Drive" by Incubus, at which point a couple people sing along. When that song is over, people start putting money in his tip jar. Mark makes a mental note to play that next time.
Next time? You need to start researching which farms in the area are hiring for harvest season.
Mark really doesn't want to go back on the road. Maybe if he makes good enough tips from playing he can stay put in the area through the winter, if Sören and Anthony are feeding him... but he feels like he'd be taking advantage. He makes himself refocus, taking some more breaths once the song is over. He needs to express himself, to get out that uncertainty and longing, and the perfect song comes to mind.
The wind blows hard against this mountainside
Across the sea into my soul
It reaches into where I cannot hide
Setting my feet upon the road
My heart is old, it holds my memories
My body burns a gem-like flame
Somewhere between the soul and soft machine
Is where I find myself again
Kýrie, eléison
Down the road that I must travel
Kýrie, eléison
Through the darkness of the night
Kýrie, eléison
Where I'm going, will you follow?
Kýrie, eléison
On a highway in the light
Sören stops spinning the clay to take out a lighter and wave it; Mark can't help smiling. Anthony laughs and nudges him, then Sören passes the lighter to Anthony as he gets back to work.
Mark's sixth song is "Livin' On A Prayer", and his seventh song is "Carry On My Wayward Son" - watching Sören's intensity at the wheel reminds him of Fëanor so much. When he plays "Don't Stop Believin'", everyone sings along, including Sören. His penultimate song is "Everybody Hurts" - something timely for the pandemic - and he closes with "Stairway To Heaven", one of his favorite songs.
Sören gets visibly emotional, enough so that Anthony hugs him right there in front of all those people - Mark has to remind himself it's 2021 and people are a lot more accepting of LGBT folks now, but even so the public display of affection throws him a bit - and Mark wants to hug Sören himself. He didn't mean to hit a nerve, but he clearly did. It touched Sören enough that when Mark is done and says "Thank you," Sören is the first to stand up and cheer, whistling enthusiastically. Mark's face burns and he can't help grinning, smiling so hard his face hurts when everyone else stands up and applauds.
Mark wants to ask Sören if he's OK, but he gets a flood of people leaving tips and thanking him for the show, and he notices Sören walking off with one of the customers, a young man in a green hoodie with a blue fauxhawk and big ear gauges. Mark wonders what that's about, if it's maybe connected to Sören's art.
A half-hour later the shop closes, and Mark helps Sören and Anthony clean up even though they didn't ask him to. They take a break to have a drink in the cafe before they go upstairs, and Mark counts his tips - he's made close to a hundred dollars. He can't believe it. This is more money than he's had in months.
Mark tries to hand them a twenty, and Anthony pushes it away and wags his finger.
"Those tips are for you," Anthony says. "The open mic is to help you."
"And because we like your music," Sören says. "You were amazing."
Anthony nods solemnly. "You earned that money. Honestly, it should be more."
"Well, people are broke," Sören says. "We're kind of broke too."
"Yeah." Anthony sighs and leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You OK?" Mark asks.
"I feel bad because our anniversary is coming up next weekend and we're being careful about money till we can be sure the shop is doing well. I want to get Sören something nice, but... money. And he's getting me something - I figured out that vase he's making is for our anniversary."
"I'm going to candle it so it's finished in time," Sören says, and when he sees Mark doesn't know what he's talking about, he says, "Clay usually takes one to three weeks to dry out properly depending on thickness and how humid it is outside. I'm going to speed up the drying process by putting it in the kiln at a low temperature for about eight to twelve hours or so. That way I can glaze it and fire it before the week is over."
"You have a kiln?"
"It's on the porch, that little three by three metal shed with the extension cord, the kiln is inside it."
Mark feels dumb, since he's sat on their porch and seen the tiny shed, but didn't know what it was for, he assumed tools or gardening supplies.
"So anyway," Anthony goes on, "I know Sören isn't with me for money, but I want to spoil him and I can't, this year."
"Let's go upstairs," Sören says, tugging on Anthony's sleeve. Then he gestures to Mark. "You too."
Mark follows them upstairs - he offers to carry the pottery wheel, and Anthony gingerly carries the clay vase. Sören puts the vase away while Anthony washes his hands and feeds the cats, and Sören comes back and gets out the menu for a local Chinese restaurant. They study the menu, and Mark's curiosity gets the better of him. "Are you guys going anywhere, at least? Since you're closing the shop for the weekend, and all."
"No." Anthony sighs again. "I want to, but there are two problems. Ideally, I'd like to take Sören to Acadia National Park - we got married there."
Sören hops up from the couch, grabs a framed photo from one of the bookshelves, and comes back. He passes it to Mark, who smiles fondly at the scene of Anthony in a gothicesque dark grey suit and tie with waistcoat, and Sören in a strappy kilt and vest, bare arms revealing his full-sleeve tattoos, curls hanging loose to his shoulders. Anthony looks dapper and elegant and Sören looks like a modern-day Viking, reflecting their personalities. Both of them are smiling happily - adorably, Mark thinks, they look beautiful together - and it makes Mark smile too, happy for them. Happy and wistful. In the background are evergreen trees, a rocky beach, and a perfect blue sky over foamy waves.
"That's one of our wedding photos," Sören says.
"He refused to wear a tuxedo." Anthony chuckles. "Not that I'm complaining." He leers at Sören.
Sören wiggles his eyebrows. "Jæja, I don't do fancy suits. Wasn't like we had our clothes on for long anyway." He turns back to Mark. "Er, sorry."
Mark tries not to think about them fucking. "It's all right, you're married adults, certain things can be assumed from that."
Mark passes the photo back to Sören, who gets up to put it back. When Sören sits back down, Snúður climbs on him for pettings. Solly and Seamus follows from the kitchen; Solly hops up on Anthony and Seamus climbs onto Mark. Mark pets and skritches the grey tabby.
Anthony goes on. "All of the lodging up there is expensive - like some places want six hundred a night, one place looks cheap at one forty a night till you find out they expect you to rent at least seven nights -"
"Ouch," Mark says.
"And even if I had twelve hundred to burn for that weekend, they want you to book well in advance, and we didn't know until a few weeks ago whether or not we could even afford to close the shop for our anniversary weekend." Anthony purses his lips.
"The other problem is the cats," Sören says. "Anthony's mum watched them when she came out for our wedding. We could put them in a kennel but that would be, like, more money. And trusting our babies with strangers."
"Our vet does boarding and logically I know they would be fine, but I'd still be paranoid anyway." Anthony picks up Solly to kiss her whisker pads, and then puts her back on his lap and skritches her. Anthony reaches for the slicker brush on the coffee table and starts brushing Solly, who leans into it - Mark can hear her purring louder across the room, and Mark smiles again.
"It's depressing," Anthony concludes. "This anniversary is really important - Sören could have died earlier this year, and I feel like a failure who can't take care of my own husband."
"Anthony, we have a roof over our heads, we have food - we're doing well enough that we can afford to get takeout tonight - and I don't need things." Sören rubs Anthony's knee reassuringly, then tweaks his nose.
"But you deserve nice thi -"
Sören puts a finger to Anthony's lips. "Change of subject. Are we ready to order?"
"Yeah, I know what I want," Mark says. To help in some way. But he feels like he'd be overstepping his bounds to offer something, especially if he offers his tip money to Anthony. Anthony is proud, and Mark understands that pride. It's that same pride that's kept him alive all these thousands of years, refusing to leave Middle-Earth and go back to Aman and "repent".
As they wait for their food, Sören puts on the TV. "You want to watch something? The next Hobbit movie?"
Mark tries not to make a noise. "Not that - how about you pick it out this time?"
Sören ponders, and then he says, "Oh, I know. Since we watched a movie with an elf... there's something else we could watch with an elf!"
"Oh no," Anthony says under his breath.
Mark braces himself.
Sören gets up and comes back with a Lazy Town DVD. "This is Iceland's greatest export," Sören informs him. "It's called Latibær back home. It was a storybook, then it was adapted to stage - my mamma and pabbi took me to see it when I was small, then it was on Icelandic television. This is in English, though."
"I think we should wait till after we eat," Anthony says. "You talked to Todd, right?"
Sören nods. "I got the stuff." He pats his jeans pocket.
They watch news and the food arrives, then they eat egg rolls, pork fried rice, and beef with broccoli, and the cats get some treats to leave them alone. The cats still beg, and Anthony rolls his eyes. Once the meal is done, Sören reaches into his pocket and produces what looks like a quarter-ounce of weed. Mark hasn't smoked since the 1970s and he misses it, but it's too risky to transport marijuana in his van.
Sören rolls a joint while Anthony sets up the DVD player. Mark doesn't know what he's expecting, but he finds the show of puppets, a pink-haired girl, a villain with ridiculous facial expressions and a jovial man dressed in blue named "Sportacus" to be disturbing and charming all at once.
"Robbie Rotten is my favorite," Sören says. "In the Icelandic version he's called Glanni Glæpur. He cracks me up. Also, I kind of ship Glanni and Íþró -"
"Who?" Mark is confused. He would also be confused about the meaning of "ship" but he made the mistake of reading Tolkien fanfic years ago.
"Oh right. Íþró is Sportacus." Sören gives a disapproving snort. "I still can't get over them calling him Sportacus in the American edition," Sören says. "His name is Íþróttaálfurinn - they completely downplay him being an elf here in the States, because Americans don't expect elves to look like people, they expect elves to be tiny. Like, do they not understand Tolkien based his elves on our mythology? Elves are as big as people, they're just... prettier. Shiny."
Mark tries not to laugh. "I've heard that, yes." You have one right in front of you. Of course he won't admit to something like that, or drop the glamour that conceals the "shiny".
"People in the States are so hung up on elves being tiny, like garden gnomes, that our own penis museum in Reykjavik has an alleged elf penis on display but it's only like this big." Sören holds his thumb and forefinger a couple inches apart. "That's obviously for tourists who think elves are tiny so elf dingdongs have to be tiny, and wouldn't believe us about our own fucking folklore -"
"OK, Sören, nobody wants a lecture about elf dicks," Anthony says, chuckling.
Mark bites his lip. Technically, he is about that size - herbs and magic made it grow from a little bean to something resembling a very small penis. They don't need to know he's a trans man and an elf, though. And he's certainly seen very large cocks among his own kind. Mark tries not to think about it, face on fire.
Sören sings along with "Bing Bang (Time To Dance)" at the end of the first episode, and wants to watch another, and Anthony says, "OK, we definitely need to smoke that if we're watching more," pointing to the joint on the coffee table. Sören snickers and lights it up.
By the end of the second episode, Mark is high enough to sing "Bing Bang" along with Sören - it's obnoxiously catchy - and Anthony tears up from laughing at them.
"Wow," Anthony says. "You have a voice of an angel and here you are singing 'Bing Bang'."
"Calling it that doesn't even do it justice," Sören says. He gives a smile that seems sad. "Your performance tonight." He puts a hand on his heart.
"I was going to ask if you were all right," Mark says. "You seemed really affected by it."
Sören nods. "My mamma used to sing me 'Stairway To Heaven'."
"Oh." Mark realizes now why his intuition chose that particular song.
"My parents were in a car accident when I was six," Sören says. "I went to live with my father's sister and her husband and they were drunks."
"I'm sorry."
"This got dark," Sören says, watching Anthony toke up. "Let's change the subject."
"You know, speaking of old songs..." Anthony laughs as he puffs out smoke and passes the joint to Sören. "You're going to think I'm an idiot, but when I was little and the song was current, I used to think 'Kyrie' was..." He sings in a pleasant baritone reminiscent of Rick Astley's voice. "Carry a laser down the road that I must travel, carry a laser through the darkness of the night..."
Sören has a gigglefit as he exhales; Mark chuckles and takes the joint from Sören.
"It could be worse," Sören says. "Like that other Mr. Mister song, you could have turned it into Take these broken wangs..."
Anthony facepalms, heaving with silent laughter that becomes less silent. He snorts, which gets Sören laughing harder and then Sören snorts too. The smoke comes out of Mark explosively as he gives into laughter.
"Jæja, when I was a kid, I learned English in school but also from pop music, and..." Sören laughs again. "I used to think that song 'Tiny Dancer' by Elton John went Hold me closer, Tony Danza..."
Anthony gives Sören a look. Sören bats his eyelashes innocently.
"I take it you're always an Anthony and never a Tony," Mark says.
"Yeah, Tony has... bad associations for me," Anthony says. "Only my uncle is allowed to call me that, and even then he doesn't do it that much anymore."
Mark wonders why, but he doesn't press it.
Sören leans in and kisses Anthony's cheek.
They watch another two episodes and finish the joint, and at the end of the fourth viewing Sören isn't just singing "Bing Bang" but dancing to it. He pulls Anthony up and makes Anthony dance with him, and then he gets Mark to join them, spinning, jumping, kicking. Seamus also jumps like he's trying to attack their legs, and when Sören and Anthony collapse in a heap on the couch, laughing so hard they're both wheezing, Seamus climbs on them and meows.
Anthony looks at the time. "OK, I think we need to go to bed." Anthony looks over at Mark. "You want to take the guest room again?"
"Thank you," Mark says. The futon is more comfortable than the mattress pad in the back of his van... and he feels safer here.
He feels cozy. That's a dangerous feeling - it's going to hurt when he has to leave them behind - but he allows himself to enjoy it; it's been a really long time since the last time he felt this way.
While Sören and Anthony make up the futon in the guest room, Mark goes down to his van to get a fresh change of clothes to sleep in. He comes back with a laundry bag to start a wash overnight, still amazed that he has free access to laundry facilities.
"Good night," Sören says, giving Mark a hug.
"Good night." Anthony pats Mark. "Thanks for putting up with Lazy Town."
"Listen, Lazy Town is awesome, and you know you secretly love it," Sören says. Anthony sticks his tongue out, and Sören sticks his tongue out in return.
"Good night." Mark squeezes Sören and pats Anthony. "And... it's OK. You guys are good company. That show is something else, I can't say I was bored."
Sören starts singing "Bing Bang" again on his way out of the room and Mark watches Anthony drag Sören by the hem of his shirt. When the bedroom door closes behind them, Mark hears a loud smack and Sören giggles. "Now the other cheek," Sören says.
Mark's breath hitches. He definitely doesn't need the delicious mental image of Anthony spanking Sören.
Mark brushes his teeth, does his bathroom business, and changes. When he gets back in the guest room the cats are on his bed waiting for him. He hits the light, climbs in, and lays awake for a little while, thinking about the family he lost. Solly kneads him, purring, and Mark sighs - he feels almost like he has a family again. He doesn't fully know them, yet, but he knows them. He knows they're good people, and he's safe here.
And that hurts. He cries quietly into his pillow, not wanting to leave, yet not wanting to ask them if they can help him stay here in Bentham through the winter.
He thinks about little Sören being sung to sleep by his mamma, and he thinks about himself being sung to sleep by Fëanor. What they don't know is that the song Fëanor used to sing has the same melody as "Stairway To Heaven" - Mark's noticed a "superpower" of being so attuned to the Song that it ends up influencing musicians even across the ocean; some of Mark's songs have been recorded by other artists without them knowing it, without ever meeting him, and some of the songs of his memories, as well, like the melody of "Stairway To Heaven". It's magic.
And yet I cannot fix my own life. I cannot undo the Doom.
Tears unnumbered.
Mark wakes up before the alarm he's set. He transfers his laundry from the washer to the dryer, then he takes a shower. This is the cleanest he's been, and felt, in years, and he cautions himself to not get used to it - he has to move on eventually, he always does - but for now it feels really good. As Mark dries off in the bathroom, out of the corner of his eye he finally notices a box of syringes sitting in the small shelf space between the medicine cabinet and the toilet, next to a pack of baby wipes. Mark wonders about it - he doubts it's heroin, they seem too functional to be junkies. He knows Anthony and Sören only drink diet soda instead of regular so he guesses one of them is diabetic, and shrugs to himself.
Mark feeds the cats and when he hears movement in the master bedroom, he starts looking around the kitchen for what to make them for breakfast. It's Anthony, who sleepily staggers in after he's used the bathroom, and waves with his eyes half-closed.
"Do you guys want oatmeal, or eggs?" Mark asks.
"Um." Anthony yawns and rubs his eyes. "Coffee."
Mark laughs and starts making coffee first. Anthony sits down in the living room and the cats climb all over him, taking turns headbutting him; Solly grabs Anthony's wrist with her front paws and gently noms, and he gives her extra rubs while Seamus sits on his shoulders.
Mark brings over coffee and lets Anthony wake up. Anthony finally says, "I think oatmeal this morning. Er... if you check the fridge you'll see Siggi's Icelandic-style yogurt, Sören likes that in the oatmeal. And thank you. You really don't have to cook for us if you don't want to -"
"I want to," Mark says.
"All right."
Mark gets the oatmeal started and sits back down; Anthony is on his laptop, scowling at the screen.
"You OK?" Mark asks, hoping it's not bad news.
"Oh just..." Anthony gives a nervous little laugh. He puts the laptop down and leans back in his seat; Seamus kneads, purring harder. "I decided to check Airbnb to see if on the odd chance anyone had something in the general vicinity of Acadia National Park open for the weekend, and they do, but they're all way out of my price range. I don't know why I keep torturing myself." He sighs. "I don't want to just stay home and do nothing, but I don't know what else to do."
"Well..." Mark clears his throat and decides he'll make some offers, and if Anthony objects, Anthony can tell him to shut up. "I'd be happy to cook something special for you guys and play waiter, if you want a fancy dinner but don't want to go to a restaurant."
"You don't have to do that, but that's appreciated."
"My other thought is... they allow camping there?"
"They do," Anthony says, "but with Sören having more health issues post-COVID I worry about us being outside at night, it gets cold."
"Hm."
Then Anthony's eyes open wider - Mark can practically see the gears turning in Anthony's head. "OK, so," Anthony says, "Sören and I met at a gay club in Reykjavik, and we had... a memorable night together, and then he offered to be my tour guide. So I rented a campervan and we spent the next two weeks driving around Iceland, sleeping in the van." Anthony grabs his laptop and sips coffee while he checks campervan prices. "That is much, much more affordable." Anthony frowns. "But then, there's kennel prices to consider, and -"
Mark exhales. "If you trust me to stay in your apartment over that weekend, I'll take care of the cats for you."
Their eyes meet. Anthony's eyes narrow and he purses his lips, and there is a long, long pause, and Mark knows how this sounds - it's one thing to let a homeless guy spend the night in their guest room, it's another thing for that homeless guy to be there alone for an entire weekend. Mark can't blame Anthony for being suspicious, that when they return they'll find all their valuables gone.
"I shouldn't have asked." Mark adjusts in his seat, face on fire, wishing he hadn't said anything. "I -"
Anthony puts up a hand. He looks down, closes his eyes for a moment, and then he looks back at Mark and says, "I have to discuss this with Sören, but if he doesn't object..." Anthony takes a deep breath. "You know, I don't even know your surname."
"Lauer," Mark says. "Mark Kenneth Lauer."
"And you have no identification."
"No."
"You're in this country illegally from... Canada." Anthony glances at the burn on Mark's hand. "Were you in the Canadian armed forces? Did you have a PTSD episode?"
Mark doesn't like lying, but it's close enough to the truth without being the truth that Mark nods. "I don't want to talk about it." He adds, "I went AWOL." If you call throwing the Silmaril into the sea "going AWOL".
"Fair," Anthony says. "OK. Well..." Anthony rubs his face like an annoyed wet cat. Solly taps him for more pettings, and Anthony resumes petting her with a chuckle. He sobers up again. "That sucks, a lot. I'm sorry."
"So'm I."
"So basically - you're not just here illegally, you're in trouble with the law."
The law is named Manwë. "Yeah. Again, I don't want to talk about it -"
"Right. Sorry." Anthony gives a small, tight, apologetic smile. "For what it's worth, I used to be a criminal defense barrister and your case sounds like the kind I'd fight for in court. My uncle came back from Lebanon in the 80s with mental health troubles and he raised me when my mum started drinking and he says I saved his life, so I have... a lot of compassion."
Mark feels guilty for not telling the entire truth and letting Anthony think he was actually in the Canadian military - though he has been in more wars than he can count across Eldar and human history - but he does what he has to do to survive. "Thank you for not judging me."
"We all break," Anthony says, looking away. "I have PTSD myself from being stabbed, and... well, never mind."
Mark wonders what the "never mind" is, but he doesn't want Anthony to feel forced to talk about something painful.
"If I wanted to steal your stuff I already would have," Mark says. He adds, "Like whatever drugs you're keeping in the bathroom. Not my business, I haven't gone snooping, I just saw the box, but whatever it is, I would have already nicked it and sold it -"
Anthony puts up a hand again. "Yeah. I... change of subject. Like I said, I'm going to talk to Sören. I'm willing to take your offer in good faith. I agree that you would have stolen stuff by now if you were like that, and you haven't. You just seem like a decent person who's had a run of shite luck."
Anthony gets up and goes down the hall, and Mark waits. He's relieved that Anthony is willing to trust him - and grateful for the possibility that he might have something like a home for an entire weekend.
He hears their voices rise and fall down the hallway and he tries not to listen in more closely. When they come down, Mark makes coffee for Sören.
"Takk," Sören mumbles.
Mark sits down with them, heart beating faster, feeling like he's on trial - like Anthony is his defense attorney and Sören is his prosecutor. But then Sören smiles sleepily - god, that smile melts his heart - and Sören says, "I told Anthony I'm cool with you staying here while we go camping, on one condition."
"Oh?" Mark hopes there isn't going to be weird strings attached.
"I told Anthony it isn't right that we would pay a kennel to watch the cats for the weekend, if we could afford it, and not pay you, so we want to give you a little money for your trouble. It won't be as much as what we'd pay a kennel, because we can't, but you deserve something."
Mark's jaw drops. When he can make words again, he stammers, "Uh... aha. I wasn't... trying to get you guys to give me money. It's enough to just have a place to crash and food for the weekend -"
"No, Sören's right, we need to pay you," Anthony says. "OK?"
"As you wish," Mark says.
He may not be able to fix his life, but things are looking at least a little better, for now.
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