The Newsagent, The Gardener and The Railwayman About noon on most days of the week the three would gather at their regular table in the Affiliated Workingmen's Club. All around was natter of football, cars, the price of houses, hankerings after larger things and greater social standing, how to beat the fruit machine and which flavour crisps to eat. Yet amid these deep debates, the three muttered of socialism, the absurdity of our lives, existentialism and, once, a brown paper parcel containing the Myth of Sisyphus was passed, subversively, between empty bottles of Old English Ale.
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