was a bit like the beginning of the film Paris, Texas. Of nothing. Hints of blues-guitar which s'égrennent vibrating. The moisture rises from the hot ground. Unless the wind blowing at dehorning cattle and water drops as big as cherries hit the ground. Me, with a poor umbrella on a cement platform which marked a bus stop along the invisible statale 92 "Saurina. The nature all around. Of nothing. Cold. Perticara Guardia, Basilicata.
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