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I once wrote: "There is no light warmer
or more alienating than someone else's kitchen at night." While that
might be
true for the most part, it wasn't the case here. Jesse and I had just spent
a lovely slightly sodden evening listening to
LPs and
78s
Rob Millis recently brought back from Europe and it was simply time to catch
the last homeward #5 bus.
We departed through the midnight garden, a touch furtively, as if leaving
an old speakeasy, away down a gravel alley.
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