Wet Wool Jackets And Fedora Hats

The patter of old men at the pub for an evening pint out with their memories and stories of time when they were the trouble-making youth they now complain about, decorates the town of rain-soaked cobblestones, thatched roofs, and rusty black bicycles propped up against the rough brick walls of the apothecary, the name of the establishment that serves the purpose of a public house in the back room and the odd filled prescription in the front.

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