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He didn’t open it right away. Instead, he wiped it clean, noting the chipped green paint and worn corners. It was built to last, sturdy in a way modern things aren’t. That night, he stared at it from across the room, a bottle of beer in one hand and an odd nervousness in his chest. What could it hold, after all these years? The next morning, he put on gloves and pried the latches open. They creaked with resistance, but eventually gave way. He slowly lifted the lid.
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