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Smothering The Parrot

Tags: fiction

I was doing my cups by "smothering the parrot" (sipping green absinthe) at The Haggis Inn. A drinkery on the planks of Aberdeen's warf by the North Sea. A cold air and visioning fog washed in by the tides, chilling my bones. The wetness of the gray seeping  into my brogans, robbing heat from soles of my feet, as fast as the wind stole frost from my nose.

It was a parlor for the artsy and a meeting place for would be novelists such as I. Often hobnobbing with writers, relinquishing their talents with their amazing thoughts and poetic lines.   

 

 

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