Down the street, my coffee shop’s windows glowed with the baleful warmth of an Edward Hopper painting. This was where I liked the write—a third place, before dawn, when the city was quiet and my thoughts were sharp. I was
Down the street, my coffee shop’s windows glowed with the baleful warmth of an Edward Hopper painting. This was where I liked the write—a third place, before dawn, when the city was quiet and my thoughts were sharp. I was
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