28 August 2017
The two accordions sound like mice squealing. Oh so different from last night. So it is, subdued demeanour and silence strong. The men talk to men, I talk to no one. My mother on the phone line telling me her life. Quiet smile and untalked nods. Her eldest child exiled, it’s the least one could do. The garden needs mowing, the husband never does. Quiet disharmony ruining perfection on this sunny…
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