There is a faint whiff of Tyrian incense, and the god Apollo stands before you

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There is a faint whiff of Tyrian incense
,
and the god Apollo stands before you
,
dressed in a sumptuous pink tunic
,
stained badly down one sleeve by juice from oranges
.
Popping another piece of fruit into his mouth
,
he begins: 'I think you should leave at once
.
Calypso's a bad thing
,
really
.
At least I think she is
,
or was once
,
or might be tomorrow
.
Something terrible could happen if you don't build yourself a raft and escape
.
I can't help you there
,
practicality and immortality just don't mix
.
'
Then in a twist of orange peel the god is gone
,
back to his scrolls and prophesying
.
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