What goes on inside an author’s mind

I was at the hairdressers today and the lady who washed my hair asked me where I had been and what exciting thing I had done this morning. I wanted to tell her that only an hour ago I was in an ancient walled city with rat infested alleyways. That I was a ten year old pickpocket in patched clothes, and that I had just light fingered the most beautiful thing I had ever laid eyes upon.

Instead I said, ‘Oh nothing really. Just sitting in front of the computer.’

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