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  • His name was Adrian. I never took that much notice of him. He worked with my Dad in the yard, normally feeding a furnace & I'd see his silhouette in the distance sometimes. I knew he was a quiet man & that they'd meet at the market when Adrian was homeless. My Dad would give him work, but Adrian would disappear for days on a bender. Eventually he moved into the yard, so Dad wouldn't have to go looking for him. As the years passed, they became really good friends.

    I was 13. Adrian came to the house, the only time I remember him visiting. I was in the living room, sitting on the god awful electric-blue-with-pink-flowers-80's-hell of a carpet, made worse only, by the matching wallpaper. He simply bent down on one knee & said 'I think you'll appreciate these one day'.

    I'd heard of Pink Floyd & now owned every album on vinyl. They had been Adrian's, well loved, the covers worn & torn, but the vinyl was perfect. Where on earth did you keep them? How did you know I'd love them?

    I have countless memories attached to those songs, moments in time - when they were played - where I was, all those crazy, chilled out, loved up, wild, hazy days.

    And just the one memory of you.
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