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Marjorie met Malcolm for the first time five years ago during one of her shifts behind the bar. She poured beers the same way her customers seemed to take a liking in pourring their own souls in her ears.

He used to sit for hours in front of her, his eyes clean from the happeings surrounding him. He was starting a company, something serious, for once. He could only afford ordering coffees, and not that many per sitting.

She offered him a shot. He offered her a place alongside him in his newly born venture.