If, on a winter's night a traveler outside the town of Malbork, leaning from a steep slope without fear of wind or vertigo, looks down into the gathering shadow...on the carpet of leaves illuminated by the moon around an empty grave, what story there awaits its end? -italo calvino
Thursday, November 13, 2003
...and it's snowing
are you kidding me? huge fluffy flakes and it's 45 degrees outside? today is surreal.
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