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The man is waiting at the end of my drive. I've never seen him before in my life, but I swear, he looks familiar. He reminds me a bit of my dad, but his hair is darker, like mine. He's got a scar like mine too, across his nose. I got mine playing football; I wonder where he got his. He waves at me and I scratch my scar, the way I do when I'm nervous.
“Er … hello, Jake,” he says.
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