On a clear day, you don´t see the sky. You see Chimborazo. A brute of earthy ice, forging its way to the heavans . No snowy peak here, but a creamy avalanche suspended in time, beaten white to blue, held with what must be a whole continent of muscle. More of the view I hear you ask? To the left of the porch, stands two jack and the bean stalk bumps.. breast-like in their togetherness, seemingly protecting onlookers from a world beyond. Rotating ahere shows hazey, soft, peaks out in the distance. Sporadic clutches of buildings.. "In distinct wails, dogs bark, donkeys braying.." There is a man, who offers his services for a fair price (maybe the noise polluntion is not), to communicate messages through a microphone adorned atop his car, spewing randomness throghout the day..
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