A narrow bedroom, but deep. A narrow bed with cheap linens meant only to last during my stay. There is already clothing scattered on the ground and clutter on the writing desk. There is no closet but a tall skinny wardrobe. The radiator is by the door.

The window faces the meadow. Even in winter it is so green. Buildings out of a picture book create the border for this park. There is always activity. Birds that I think are seagulls swoop ans squack at all times of the day and school children follow teachers in bright reflective jackets.

Down four flights of stairs and you are standing on Barclay Terrace. It is a very short street. A large garbage bin sits outside the Golf Tavern with the refuse of the previous night’s events scattered around it. There is a girl cleaning. I am always surprised at how young she is. No older than me, but there is no sense of unhappiness about her. Just a look of determination for her task.

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