Midtour; slight insanity. The alarm goes off at half past five, and there is a (black, prepaid, lemon-scented) car waiting outside muttering in various dialects, burping greenhouse gases into frigid 91st Street, with its windswept foothills of filthy ice. Away from city joy, away from my beloved grottos of iniquity, away from my slothful intellectualism, […]
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