miðvikudagur, maí 11, 2005

ilmur

As the sun sets, it looks like there are faerie lights hanging in the branches outside, but it is only the darkening glass reflecting the image of the little bulbs in hanging in the bedroom, behind me. After dark, the scent of an agitated skunk somewhere in the neighborhood floats in the open window, a familiar smell like rubber or nailpolish or burning.

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