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The day I quit writing

Sitting in a bar

It was 1996. The new boyfriend and I were taking a break from our London jobs and were holed up in a cosy bar in Prague, smoking Camel cigarettes and writing feverishly in our notebooks with the kind of earnest intensity that only twenty-somethings can get away with. New Boyfriend even had a fountain pen (hey it was the nineties). Massive Attack was probably playing on the stereo.

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