He only wanted two things, to drink and to write. Both were out of control. Consequently, he was more widely known as a drinker than a writer. He filled his mouth with wine. There are many ways to write a story, he knew, most of them a variation on a theme. As he swallowed, he closed his eyes. It wasn’t difficult to blank out the sounds of the other men in the cafeneio. He tried to concentrate on a single image – a woman’s face, and the eyes set in that face, eyes that looked at him, unblinking, as the woman spoke. This woman was beautiful. She scared him. He was trying to get to the point of understanding why, and of being able to put it into words.
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You can read the complete story on the McStorytellers site.
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You can read the complete story on the McStorytellers site.
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