“…But then there’s the morning after. The hangover. And the realization that I’m not quite as available as I thought I was the night before. And then she’s gone. And I’m left haunted by yet another road not taken.” —
Tot el camp es un clam som la gent Blau Grana
“I am free from time. I accept it without triumph” —peyote poem by Michael McClure
It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good-night.
What would Michael Corleone do?