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Cafe Jazz #7

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From first thing when I get in to whenever the last customer leaves, constant babble.
Helena nodded, silent.
Then I get home and I want to listen to Moanin or Birds of Fire or whatever but I can’t. My heart wants music but my ears demand silence. My head ignores what I want.
He frowned at his hands.
He wasn’t sure he was properly conveying what he meant. She knew he didn’t appreciate that she understood.
It’s as if the rest of the day has chained me so that not even the evening is mine. You probably think I'm mad...

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