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  <title>psd's Stories</title>
  <subtitle>Dusty-crusty-telco-hack</subtitle>
  <updated>2008-06-01T22:17:43Z</updated>
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  <entry>
    <title type="text">Generation X</title>
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    <content type="html">&lt;p&gt;Living in a small seaside town, in the wrong end of England, he felt a strong sense that life was happening, only to other people, elsewhere. This was 1977, the Queen&amp;#8217;s Silver Jubilee and the TV was filled with good people waving union jacks. &amp;#8220;Why don&amp;#8217;t I belong?&amp;#8221; he thought. Then it happened. And this was big. Here at last was something real, something cool, something fun. Generation X were playing the Coatham Bowl, if only he could get tickets. If only his mum would let him go. And if only she would come with him.&lt;/p&gt;</content>
    <id>http://ficlets.com/stories/21</id>
    <published>2007-03-07T23:23:01Z</published>
    <updated>2008-06-01T22:17:43Z</updated>
    <author>
      <name>psd</name>
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