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In the evening of the first day of a summer festival, two elderly men were sat on a wooden platform by the roadside staring intently at something between them.

The festival was in that pre-dusk lull like a deep inhale before the evening roars to life, and into this silence came a sudden, sharp little sound. Tak. One of the men winced, rubbed his chin and leaned forward with an air of resignation. Tak. Of course, they were playing go.

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