Day 65: Bassano del Grappa

It's getting quieter, slowly. A reverse boil, when everything's settling near the bottom. Clear. I can look into it. 

In college, I once wrote about a Lemonhead. Its tart pucker in my mouth, the way it turned to sweet and how the sunlight warmed a patch on the floorboards. I don't know why I remember that moment, but I remember it exactly. The Oxford breeze through the window and the way the curtain flirted open on itself.

Tonight it's a fire. And I'm drinking limoncello.

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