I used to always have Saturdays off. What did I do? What did she do? Busy at work? Or unemployed? Lazy slow breakfasts brought up to the second floor bedroom? Newspaper? She worked in Komedia. I went to see her on a Saturday. Sometimes I worked there too. Or I would just sit and write in the café and watch the people go past and read the serialised graphic novel in the Guardian, the one by Audrey Niffenegger, the one about the mobile library, and perhaps also I was beginning to try and solve the cryptic crosswords, as yet fairly useless at them, just getting one or two clues, more in the Everyman on a Sunday, in the Observer. Evenings? What did we do Saturday evening? Go out? Gigs?
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