the wind makes strange noise in the eaves, and it is the end of january. again.
i pour two shots at three o’clock in the morning: one for myself. one for the wolf.
for it is the hour.
and nothing works.
(marginalia vitae)
the wind makes strange noise in the eaves, and it is the end of january. again.
i pour two shots at three o’clock in the morning: one for myself. one for the wolf.
for it is the hour.
and nothing works.