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my wife is away and
in the unaccustomed solitude I find myself writing. And as I start
to eat my lunch of smoked tofu, beef and greens in a little roadside
shack – I think of you – the reader and try to imagine where you
are; why you are reading and whether this means anything to you.
Four
men sit at four sides of table, a heaped pile of white rice as one
man speaks and the occasional grunt from the others – and then I
feel someone's eyes on me - see the waiter stting in the
doorway, a small man – so small almost childlike –
is
sitting watching me
watching them
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