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Summary
All the tours had been a fucking joke. No one able to hear a thing; they’d gotten worse and worse over the years until they packed it in for good. How they ever became anything at all, John has no idea. He brushes against Yoko’s shoulder and she hums, pleased, only for him to hear. This is what’s right. He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.
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New York, the 70s versus 1964. Written for sleeper9's beautiful John in New York zine.
