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I remember sitting, as I did so often at the time, in an airport lounge. This was Rotterdam on a dark evening, in the single story building on the edge of an airfield. I looked around and there were 5 or 6 men, all sitting alone in disheveled suits looking lost and miserable. I thought "poor sods". Then I looked at myself.


A dark evening at the edge of the airfield? Write the rest of this short story please.


I did want to be writer but my school made me choose between arts and science. I think science saved me from poverty.




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