His eyes were always bright. Yet they were always slightly too wide, too open, too alert. That was what gave him away. That, and the way he would tap his left foot to an inaudible beat. Then, as if self-consciously, he would roll his shoulders back, grin widely and delve his hands into the musty jacket he always wore. You couldn’t call him nervous. He was sure of what he was doing although...
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Our focus is on the arts; culture, literature, art, poetry, society, music, and opinion.
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