The title is but a red herring. This is not about a book by Solzhenitsyn.
If anything this is more about: ' Of all the clubs, in all the cities, in the whole world, she had to walk into mine.' But it's not about movies. It's not Casablanca.
But of all the places, in all the cities I have been to, in the world...
AUGUST 1914
She walked in...and later on walked away. But in between...
Well, we'll always have Paris.
This post is cryptic but not fictive.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
