On the turn of a Tuesday

  Through the squint of a half opened eye watching the crayon of morning drawing the sky. Seagulls on their way to Southend via the East End. Impressions are all that is left…

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Written off

Incoming or outgoing never knowing from where an accordionist as pissed as a judge misjudges the keys the audience assembled at will as if brought by some sixth inner sense, sense all of this and the miss of the keys becomes a part of the show another routine for the accordionist, but he’s been here…

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