watercolour and ink on paper
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The Melancholy Surrogate
At a small table in the darker recesses of the pub there are a few quiet friends to be found. Their conversation is quiet but they are assured, commanding, respected, though perhaps the only sign of respect is shown through leaving them be. They are settled in this time of plague, they have their duties, their responsibilities and their habits. They come to the pub as an escape, as a moment of levity, they come for the insincerity, they come because they always have. And these are the few who still come.
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