Spring is blowing through the budding trees as you wander through town, the first time in months your commute didn’t consist solely of a hurried walk from your door to the train or car. You spot a baby pink flier stapled to a telephone pole…
“messy art gallery” it read.
You rip one of the handwritten addresses off the paper and meander. Finally you find the cafe with a big outdoor garden and walls dappled in photos and paintings.
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