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  • It might take a sit to gather enough, Miranda and Lafayette, and just a sip to wake up all together. But wait for me to tell you the story of these three turkish gentlemen sitting over for a languid backgammon afternoon, small turkish town. I might pick it from there.

    You are twins and already five, and I am sorry for never having properly remembered your birthdays. Even after learning there's no shameful periodicity when you take time only too serious, twice a month, two dots forgotten on this never ending line, puts me with a clear heart in some weird kind of debt. The youngest and closest folks possible and I can't show up weekly to help and craft your growth.

    So take my writings on this cowbird website as a compensating deed for such a highly frequent and potentially misleading not being. I sketched a dedication: Big eyed Miranda, very similar to me Lafayette, the following are for-you stories. I checked around, the neighborhood is fine and here and there painted with that beautiful tint.

    Readers, beware of an english-as-a-second-language general feeling, a feeling, alas, we should all emprehend under these shifting times of ours, and yes, of the mouth-filling latinisms that impregnate sentences with steps, paragraphs with cliffs.

    Indulgent? Me, playing the kinda boozed corner poet and Miranda and Lafayette, for that very eccentricity, that at once neglectful and charming posture of abandonment towards beautiful ripeness, feeling me closer, loving me more? I'd say I'm not sure about a lot of them clues anymore, and that the holding ones feel stronger and brighter as ever, they do. So, well, yes, we'll see.
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