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    The smell of ink is redolent in the air, as the resistance printers screen propaganda deep in a basement in the French Quarter. The Absinthe is f… Read More
    The smell of ink is redolent in the air, as the resistance printers screen propaganda deep in a basement in the French Quarter. The Absinthe is flowing, and there's static on the radio, as YWFT Clairemy makes its proud and vibrant presence known. Hand-drawn in the night air with a DC-3 propeller blade, YWFT Clairemy is 327 glyphs of pure, Bistromathic glory, and contains OpenType alternates that would make DeGaulle perm his moustache. Cue the trumpets. Read Less
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YWFT Clairemy
The smell of ink is redolent in the air, as the resistance printers screen propaganda deep in a basement in the French Quarter. The Absinthe is flowing, and there's static on the radio, as YWFT Clairemy makes its proud and vibrant presence known. Hand-drawn in the night air with a DC-3 propeller blade, YWFT Clairemy is 327 glyphs of pure, Bistromathic glory, and contains OpenType alternates that would make DeGaulle perm his moustache. Cue the trumpets.

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