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Saturday, 29 October 2011

Sean Connery
The man in the tall, black suit
Stood out against the rest
He sat in silence in the torrid, dank and desperate pub
With a cocktail glass caressed between his black suede glove
His tired lips, drinking so slow you’d have thought he wasn’t drinking at all
A black-suited man in a place rundown he must have thought it was a ball
Men came and went in his opposite seats 
Not a syllable offered nigh on even a glimpse
Of the man he knew he was and will be 
His silence was enough to give them the third degree
This black-suited man in a place so bland must have thought he was Sean Connery.

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