(Circa 2007 by boy; perhaps, I'll tell you the story someday)
“The Cicada sing an endless song in the long grass, smells run along the earth and falling stars run over the sky, like tears over a cheek. You are the privileged person to whom everything is taken. The Kings of Tarshish shall bring gifts.”
In my travels, I usually resolve to a wardrobe of cargo pants, light tees and embarrassingly comfy walking shoes, but oh to wear this ensemble for my next African venture.
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