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Jacks

Appleseed Johnny meets Jack Frost meets Jack the Man with the Lantern.

“Harvest is over,” says Frost, and the lips of his smile are tattooed.

“They’ll slaughter the winter cows soon enough,” says Johnny, peeling a Gala with a paring knife. He tosses the long red ribbon over his shoulder. “Let them have their bonfire first.”

“I love bonfires,” protests Frost. “I love it when they gutter.”

“Not all fires die,” says Jack the Man with the Lantern. In his hand a pumpkin glows, its heart a hellborn ember.

“To the harvest, anyway,” sighs Appleseed, and pours three shots of cider.

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