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Harry walked into his office from the bedroom. The rooms he rented from Tee Tee were small, but at least he had a bedroom, a kitchen, and a room for an office.

He paused.
A box sat squarely in the middle of his desk — brown, with a brown lid. He approached cautiously. As he drew closer, he heard a ticking sound — tick… tick… tick… — and caught the faint smell of cinnamon.

Cinnamon?

Rubbing his stubbled chin, Harry sat in his chair and puzzled over the box. How had it gotten there? The door was locked — he was sure of it — and only he had a key.

Well, and Tee Tee had a key too.

He reached over, lifted the lid, and smiled. Inside was an alarm clock, a stick of cinnamon — his favourite spice — and a note.
"A new alarm clock to replace the one you accidentally shot."

He wrinkled his nose at the memory. That had been a horrid experience — one he hoped never to repeat.

The note continued:
"And fresh cinnamon for your coffee."

Figures. She always said he drank battery acid and called it breakfast.