© 2018 by Past Ten. 

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May 12, 2019

Frieda’s eyes are gentle and pleading as they look down at you. Quietly, bravely, you try again.

“It’s late,” you coo, desperately hoping she does not find your request  — or worse, you — boring. You have allowed the hazy glow of street lamps over cobbled streets, sever...

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"Where were you on this day ten years ago?"

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