I'm on my way back to Georgia
June 17th 2007 Sitting on Nino's balcony
It's past midnight. I hear voices, distant TVs. I see headlights race up the hill on the far side of the river. I read, write, contemplate. I'm reading The Moor's Last Sigh by (Sir) Rushdie. I copy passages that speak to me into my journal:
(She) drank her own bitterness and called it sweet,
walked in her own desert and called it lush ...
If Nino were he
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