There I was charging along Melbourne's busy streets- traffic noises, trams clanging, Big Issue thrust in my face, cold, wet, windy. Fed up. Then I spotted some stone steps and felt drawn to explore and there at the bottom was, bugger me, an English pub, complete with heavy beams, oak panelling, a burning log fire and most amazing of all every single person drinking there was a writer. What was
really weird was some of them had been there since 2008 and hadn't spoken since then.
Everybody was silent. I had a brandy (I needed it) and left. I hope next time I visit; there will be more converstion and animation then instead of weird freak -me-out silence, it would be fun.
See you around

Brownbarley
Inside every fat book is a thin book trying to get out.
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