corrupt the cultural memory

Simeon is still there. The rock gets smaller every day, a change imperceptible to the eye, but he's still up there suspended by some unknown force.
He received a visitor the other day: a wild eyed boy with a poisoned leg, and the gait of a wading bird.
The boy spoke. It seemed to Simeon that he was speaking to somebody else but no one else was there.
"They said that I look like an Old Believer. What's the use? I'm clean shaven!".
Simeon found it very difficult to keep his eyes on the horizon.
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He looked down. It wasn't clear how long had passed but the boy was no longer there. In his place: a peasant blouse, a yellow jacket, and a pair of polished boots; one more worn than the other. Somewhere, a girl threw a stone into a stream.
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