I Get Paid To Have Fun

It’s Tuesday. I have a steaming cup of black tea (with milk, of course) next to my right hand which is scribbling down the week’s schedule into my diary. Downstairs, the front door opens and closes. I hear footsteps climbing the stairs as I reach for some scrap paper. In walk two tall, 40-something-year-old men who smile not out of politeness but out of true appreciation for being here.

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