It was 4 p.m. on a drizzly Saturday, the considerate of day that makes you think the rain will last until the next ten years. I walked past the usual chain pubs, each one a glassy echo of the last, and found a narrow lane that led to a door painted a tired shade of green. Inside, the air smelled of peat along with old wood, and the bartender, a man with a beard that looked like he’d spent a week ...
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