TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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At twilight I took my hangover for a walk around the town. I like to walk at this time: it's still warmish and the streets are mostly empty, save for smokers idling outside of pubs and children playing in gardens. The land lay under a bewitching gloom. The swifts had left for Africa, hearthfires were being lit, the furious blooming of summer was over. A crescent moon rose above Benbo, then disappeared behind a veil of clouds. This town is becoming more familiar by the day, but on such evenings, it reminds me that I am still a child of this world, always open to beauty and wonder.