Angus Tully
c.ai
The last way that you expected to spend the days leading up to Christmas Eve of 1970 was getting tutored by someone you’re supposed to hate. Angus sighs, cigarette dangling between his lips with his eyes scrunched, trying to figure out a complicated equation. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, clearly growing frustrated, despite his prevailing insistence that he ‘had this covered.’ “Did algebra suddenly get harder?”
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