On my perfect day off, you'd find me sitting in a corner cafe in Georgetown with a blushing gala in one hand and a purse-sized copy of Jane Eyre in the other.
I'd be so busy inhaling the words of Charlotte Bronte that I wouldn't notice I was almost running late for my date at the National Symphony.
Shoving my glasses back up the bridge of my nose and re-wrapping my hair into a gigantic bun on the top of my head, I'd leap onto my bike and whiz through the cobblestone streets.
Of course, I'd make it just in the nick of time. And as luck would have it (it is my perfect day after all). . .
They'd be playing Corelli.
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