The book club

There is silence in the library although Tolstoy’s talking quietly I’m drinking coffee in the cafe a noisy archipelago Solzhenitsyn puts his two pennerth in I order a buttered barm cake…

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Coldplay and chorizo

Maybe she was Russian black or maybe my imagination, but she moved like snow on peppermint, slow and tasty and much to my amazement, she melted lines upon my face and I, stepping light on all the right stones making magic with these old bones melted into her. With several leaps into frustration my destination…

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