One of the more unexpected finds I made at Paradise was the discovery of a small door in an outer rim wall skirting the far north eastern boundary.
I’d been living at Paradise for several years before I even ventured out that way. For the first few years of my residency I was utterly content to spend my days ambling through the thriving thoroughfares sampling the fare at atmospheric little cafes where artisan bakers made delicious pastries and some of the world’s finest baristas made rich mellow coffee.
Hours would pass as I discussed contemporary art and poetry with like minded others. Our open mike nights were an absolute hoot. There we would treat each other to our refined verses and carefully wrought haiku. The more avant garde of us mixed their spoken word presentations with digital image configurations projected onto the cafe walls.
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