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With An Old Friend.

Our Last Conversation.

I met my old friend, as usual, at the inn, a mock-Tudor affair with a thatched roof, nestled at the end of a country lane, surrounded by empty fields. I found him alone in a secluded corner of the bar, looking concerned.

When I had taken my seat opposite him and had a drink in front of me, he suddenly talked.



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Carel Kolchinski

Past lives as a journalist, PR poseur and commercial slave. Now an aged teetotaller, cyclist, enthusiastic musician and painter. Certified writing addict.