TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations & other curiosities :: profile 03.14.06, tuesday morning These days we aren�t sure of what we�re seeing. Either winter is digging its heels or spring is reluctant to claw itself out. The way the great beech trees twisted on the hotel grounds made me think of that party scene in The Great Gatsby, only we had arrived the morning after. From a window on the highest floor, a little platinum-blond girl observed us, as solemn as a grey March day.
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