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The Man on a Plastic Chair
A pretty brunette swayed tiredly at the bus stop, her soft brown eyes peered from under her amber rimmed glasses into the distance, waiting for the bus that was late, as usual. Stifling a yawn, she looks at her watch then with a shake of her head heads off down the road figuring that she would probably get there before the bus.
St Paul's Street
“Anytime,” she said hastily, “this is my house number and mobile number,” she said as she wrote it down clearly on a napkin with a pen she had pulled out from her purse, “oh, and this is my address.”
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