What in God's name-- [Arthur pauses on the path, gazing down a slope some paces ahead. The ground's covered in snow, but something about the way it reflected light seems off. He frowns and bends forward, swiping a finger through it. His eyes widen. He tastes it.] Why, it's--sugar.
[On a bench is an abandoned snowboard. He cautiously approaches it
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Me owning a snowboard for instance.
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I'm part of the female species.
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Bleeding straps won't ahh-- [He loses his balance.] My effing back... Christ. Now I've got sugar in my hair.
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Where from?
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