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Provenance
That night, I had a simple meal of stew, wine and bread. I went back to my room, but I could not aear to to stay there alone. I washed and changed clothes, slipped on my raincoat, and ventured into the Charleville night. It was quite dark and I walked the wide and empty quai Rimbaud. I felt a little affraid, and then, in the diatnce, I saw a tiny light, a neon sign--Rimbaud Bar. I stopped and took a breath, unable to believe my good fortune. I advanced slowly, afraid it might diasappear like a mirage in the desert. It was a white stucco bar with one small window. There was no one around. I entered tentatively. It was dimly lit and mainly inhabited by boys, angry-faced fellows, leaning against the jukebox. A few faded pictures of Arthur were tacked on the walls. I ordered a Pernod and water as it seemed the closest to absinthe. The jukebox played a crazy mix of Charles Aznavour, country tunes, and Cat Stevens.
-- P. Smith
delirium
I could not aear to read this sober.. and unfortunately there was no Pernod or absinthe in near diatnce.
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