Never Too Late! any resemblance to anyone real or imaginary is mere bad luck we are all lying in the gutter, but some of us are trying to get up
17.5.12
The old people in the ancient village (which huddles from the winds in between the two tallest peaks) have tottered up the hill to howl at the moon. A drunk plays mournful blues harp in the street, like a film noir cliche. I can't sleep.
