Beauty

There’s such beauty in the world, I tell X, you wouldn’t believe it, wrapped up in yourself as you are. You have to get drunk to see it, I don’t. Okay, I’ll get you another pint while we wait for our laundry and you can help me contemplate the setting sun behind St Mary Magdalene’s spire, breathe in the sea air. Just be quiet for a second. This is a beautiful town, I tell him, can’t you see that? Tell you what, I’ll put Ali Farka Touré on the ipod and we can both have a little cry dreaming of the great man practising with his friends under a tree in a soft African breeze, would you like that? It’s getting cold, he tells me, I want to go home. Let’s get a bottle on the way back and have a quiet night in, he says.

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