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Roz Symon

Writer, Illustrator & Creative Communications Coach

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Posted on by Roz Symon

228

Sometimes – rarely – I open my son’s shutters to air the room. Somewhat alarmed this morning to find, on the floor by his bed, a box of matches, one playing card and a harmonica. Suddenly see sleazy Western saloon bar, old bum (Walter Huston?), tumbleweed blowin’, shiny Sheriff badge, dusty spurs…

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