TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations & other curiosities :: profile
04.03.12
Like sleepwalkers, A and I shuffle from bedroom to kitchen in solitudes cut to our exact shapes, phosphorescent in the glassy gloom. Outside the city recovers from all-day hailstorms, in disbelief after a week of sunshine, bare legs, and 20C weather.
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