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Subscribe to Whole Stories Shortly for reads that are short and substantive, uncommon yet relatable—a reliable escape from the daily grind. (Unless the grind is for your coffee. The stories here are perfect for a beverage break.)
This story begins with a picture I took at a Copenhagen art gallery last week. The fire alarm had gone off, and the Sunday crowd had evacuated in a rush leaving the white cupboard doors of the locker room randomly ajar.
The numbers on the doors, the keys in the locks made me think about the years I've lived through, and those still to come.
The story references my post The Genius of Bold Beginnings, so click the link to check that out. And while you're there -- sign up to become a free or paid subscriber so you don’t miss out future stories!
By Beth RiunguSubscribe to Whole Stories Shortly for reads that are short and substantive, uncommon yet relatable—a reliable escape from the daily grind. (Unless the grind is for your coffee. The stories here are perfect for a beverage break.)
This story begins with a picture I took at a Copenhagen art gallery last week. The fire alarm had gone off, and the Sunday crowd had evacuated in a rush leaving the white cupboard doors of the locker room randomly ajar.
The numbers on the doors, the keys in the locks made me think about the years I've lived through, and those still to come.
The story references my post The Genius of Bold Beginnings, so click the link to check that out. And while you're there -- sign up to become a free or paid subscriber so you don’t miss out future stories!