I met a barfly last night while eating dinner alone at a local pub. She was around 60 years old, accompanied by an equally scruffy gentlemen. He bore the same peacefully accomplished smirk as she did. The burden of poverty stricken contentment they wore on their backs were as light as their faded sweaters. I kindly asked her to pass me an
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I was immediately welcomed into their meal on a stool. Sounds awkward. Like you've been invited to be eaten. Other than that I loved it. :)
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tell you what creative writer, ill write more like that if you will.
thanks, good critique, i agree, my biggest problem with my writing is having an addiction to making every line profound on its own, when people dont act, think, or talk that way.
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Done.
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