They were still so young; everything had potential. Mimi could be magnanimous with encouragement because he was getting it as well, from his music professors at the university, from friends, from a club booker who’d recently told Mimi he was the next Jimmy Page. There was time. That’s what everyone said when Mimi was twenty and then twenty-three and then twenty-seven, that’s what he and his friends told one another, a refrain among their group, the phrase as soothing as an aperitif. There’s time, they’d assure each other, he and Harp, there’s still so much time, and it truly felt that way,
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