A weekend's over. It's dawn. Twilight fades graciously. It's a Monday morning. You switch on some music. You let the guitar strumming fill the rectangular space of cottony grey freshness that's your room. You let the song coat over you as you get off the bed. It's a Monday morning. And with the legacy of music, you begin work.
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The Housemaid by Frieda McFadden
Are you familiar with this situation? You pick up a book because it looks like it will be a good read and you really want to get over your ...
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This isn't exactly a feminist tirade, but this is written by a woman, and it is written in annoyance. You raise your girls to be sweet...
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I visited the Crossword at Mulund. It is big, bright, noisy, and has a really chic café. There are books too. The reason I was there was to ...
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