By Thom Brown
Sitting and sweating by an anonymous statue, I was alone yet liberated in the enchanting Slovenian capital. Ljubljana promised to be a land of unexpected joy. I’d emerged from the sleeper train, keen, excited, haggard, and disheveled, although yet to find a place in the city to stay.
Still, the day was young.
The Notebook
Beside me, a journal lay, without it owner. An unopened book with no title; the potential secrets inside were endless. Trying to ignore it, I waited for the owner to pick it ...
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