A beautiful piece of writing
The corridor was long enough to see all the way till the end. You would walk it down to your flat. On the way you would be in your thoughts. In one of those corners where the wind if sultry, the weather was warm. If the sounds made some sense some time, the conversations got even more indifferent.
He sat in one corner of his prison cell of a flat, okay may be a bit more upper middle class than that. And sketched up some goofy face of a guy. She brought coffee from a nearby place.
That morning was particularly one of the better ones, he thought. The breakfasts needs to get crunchier, she thought. After a lazy coffee they did it again.
Later she thought again of what he said during the breakfast. She loved the deeper conversations even though down the long corridor, towards the end he…
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