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Opposite the Sunflowers
I sit on the bench opposite Sunflowers once a month, give or take. Usually on the way back from something in London. Train into Charing Cross, ten minutes in Room 43, train home. A small private detour. You get blocked, sitting on that bench. People walk up and stand in front of you and you…
The Algorithm and Samuel
She was ahead of me in the coffee shop, phone in one hand, oat flat white in the other. Talking with her friend. “Honestly? I just trust the algorithm. It knows what I’ll like better than Samuel ever did.” Samuel, I assumed, was her local bookseller. Or maybe the friend who used to slip her…
The One Who Didn’t Know Any of That
People don’t usually tell you when your writing is good. They just read it and move on. So when someone takes the time to say something, you notice. What I started noticing was this. When people mentioned a post, it was always the same ones. The street sweeper my mother pointed out when I was…
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