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Lancaster's an old university town. It has thousand year old streets and fresh students every year, but neither of them ever seems to age.
One day I watched an ancient old lady feeding the pigeons in the main square. She had birdseed in her hand, and it was falling through her fingers as she stumbled towards a big group of birds. When they came to her she seemed almost to vanish inside a ball of wings and beaks. I could see her in there; she didn't hesitate or flinch, she just shuffled onwards as she was.
the falling rain