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I walk past Braidwood's intellectual hub most days of the week. Outside this unlikely place of mental ferment are posters of movie stars having a good or bad day. I look at these posters, repelled and attracted at the same time; will Ange leave Brad? Will these starlettes finally start eating? Why do we care? These are only people, who granted make more money than the whole of the population of this state, but they are still only human, with the same foibles as you or me.
What is the real worth of things? i used to believe that owning things like books would be an asset.
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