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What his father says is good enough almost to have engraved on a stone –
“ If we lose each other on the Canal, we’ ll meet up again at‘ The Poitín Still’.”
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On your second last day you send us across the street to the restaurant to learn again what it means to eat. Italy were playing Spain at sunset.
Potato and asparagus soup to start, then beautiful Lamb stew, a list of pizzas as long as your arm.
The owner at the window table, taking time out to dine before the rush, accepted patron’ s wishes for the Azzurri, a citizen cherishing a half glass of wine, his silhouette, a picture of how to live.
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The last time you used the words‘ I am’;“ You’ d better talk, because I’ m not able.”
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