A wrapper left on the road earns no less than seventeen syllables.
From behind The Raj Pavilion, the smell of curry, gusted by a damp breeze, mixes memory and desire.
My old friend greets me at the building society. In the weeks before Christmas she asks (as she must ask all but her most boorish clients): "have you done your Christmas shopping yet?" It is an annual refrain, which I look forward to as much as God Rest You Merry Gentlemen. But today it is too early for Christmas. Instead she asks: "Have you anything planned for Easter"
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