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The Heart by Suzanne Breakwell, paper engineer extradordinaire.
One of my fondest memories; Tristan and I sitting on the roof of a house in Brighton, smoking sobranis, drinking wine called Curmudgeon, and discussing the neighbour we christened Pat Doherty.
Phases of the sun.
Beautiful Pele.
The band playing at my cousin’s birthday party, like something out of Twin Peaks.
Glasgow, the land of no return.