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(A short story of 2356 words)

Shooting Stars


by Brindley Hallam Dennis

Memories around a short-term summer job years ago still linger.

You’d be a fool to risk it these days, with no witnesses and only memory to guide you. All you can recall are little details, as sharp as a story painted on shattered glass. The summer of seventy-six you took a temporary job with a film company working in the English Lake District.

If you’d got the camp-fire going by the time the runner arrived, you’d maybe sit down together and share a joint – and that doesn’t mean of meat – and a can of beer. The runner was an Ozzie named Ben, which he pronounced Bin and he took the view that ‘you deserve it mate, stuck out here all night long’. Then he’d look around a bit and say, but mate, there’s no-one partying in Ambleside either, which you knew wasn’t true. When you think back it seems like it went on all summer long, but in fact you were only there for four or five nights and once or twice the runner and you talked about Stephanie...

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