The prompt:
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He’d sailed on his yacht the Pursang into the harbor of this sleepy Maine town That was where they’d anchor for the night, maybe go into town the next day for a little shopping. The image of a lazy harbor at sunset, with a white church steeple up on a hill, quaint shops and Victorian homes painted a welcoming picture. The water was so tranquil that it was like a mirror.
Perhaps it was the calm before the storm, or so that’s what Solo’d gut told him as he bedded down for the night.
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