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It was cold as we drove through the city: street lights glistened on rain-soaked pavements, figures scurried past, leaning their umbrellas into the wind, and buildings sprang to life as one by one their inhabitants returned from a long day’s work. I stared from the car as we passed, watching living rooms flood with light, kitchens blur in the steam from boiling pots, and curtains close against the world. “Behind every window there is a story,” came a voice from the front. I was about five or six years old and I have been fascinated by this idea ever since.

Inspiration: Musings & Thoughts
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