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A Very Blakely Christmas
It seemed like it couldn’t be the best Christmas of Blakely’s dreams.
“Eedle bops and doodle drops, and cosmic taxi streams,” he sighed, leaning his forehead against the cold, partly fogged window.
Snow was falling, and sleet was pelting.
Beams of light streaked for miles down the street.
The air was alight by the moon and stars, making large hazy poofs where, once, there was none.
The sky was frosted and the ground was blanketed; the fire was roaring, and his family - “Sigh” - was so boring.
They celebrated Christmas in the living room.
Singing songs and being chums, and stuffing their faces with fare, in fun.