one hundred pages

My old stomping grounds, Queen Street West, and that summer I worked at Preloved, I used to pop into Type every other day. I would stare out at Trinity Bellwoods, sun and rain and everyone in the city would wander by. Clafouti for a bagel, Nadege for coffee and macarons on Sundays.

I miss my books, I had to leave all mine at my parents house, boxed in the cold.
I took a few last time I was home, hid deep in my bag, but it's so hard to choose.
I'm finding more, slowly.

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