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WRITING MY STORY
With the stroke of a pen,they enabled me to write the story,gave a framework on whichI could hang all mannerof dreams and assumptions,inviting a search I neverquite got around to making. I wandered the beachesof Estoril in my dreams,stalked the avenues of Lisbon,looking for a familiar face,but found only ghosts. With the stroke of a…
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SUNDAY MORNING
It is Sunday we sit in the living room each with our lattes she brushing the cat. I sat on the sofa with the Sunday Times. We are listening to radio Hele Norge, unsure why, the Norwegian caroming around our ears, the speakers noticing nothing different. We’re not quite sure how the weather is in…