Where are we? Something isn’t right. I can see you walking through the door of the ward, holding my first ever classical guitar within its battered 15 year old case. The case is dripping in scraps of shoelace, red, yellow…
Where are we? Something isn’t right. I can see you walking through the door of the ward, holding my first ever classical guitar within its battered 15 year old case. The case is dripping in scraps of shoelace, red, yellow…
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