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My Musings

The rain drums on. It comes down in sheets, hammering windows with fluctuating fury as gusts of wind come and go. I’m situated in a leather seat in a glitzy pub. 

One of those establishments that are small enough to fill/sell-out, and still maintain a unique ambiance. I have a snifter in one hand, and a book in the other. 

Directly opposite is a mural of a nondescript man staring at me blankly. I’m drawn to the mural because I’m growing listless by the minute. I’ve been waiting on someone going on for 30 minutes. 

Gradually, I find myself, drifting to the music, 1950's American Jazz crooned by a raspy melodious male voice. The stiff drink, the music and the book fail at stoking my spirits. I have barely ploughed through a chapter of the book, but I know I’m done. 

My concentration is fragmented. Averse to dog-eared book pages, I sear my current page in my mind, and put the book down. I swivel my frame, and turn my attention to the wall high windows laden with rainwater trickling down …

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