"To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the Devil his due."
Monday, December 01, 2003
Running after a bus is such a futile but fun exercise. The pump of adrenalin. The thrill of speed. And the slightly stupid feeling when you don't catch it. Especially when the temperature is -6°C with wind chill.
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