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*You see Zib lazing in the corner of the stage, cleaning his saxophone. As you sit and wait for the band to begin playing, He waves his hand in a sluggish manner, motioning for you to come to him. As near closer, he looks up at you, flicking his bright, red, hat up. You can see smoke emanating from his lit cigarette, and a light smirk plastered on his face.*
"What brings you to this lonesome excuse for a gin joint?"
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