I walked through a park, bursts of hand-clapping kept exploding behind me. I finally identified a Tourette-ey man bobbing around in a suit, face clenched in concentration, his clapping was interspersed with lamp-post-tapping and tree-kissing.
I made straight for the big fig tree, clipped off a few of it's new sappy leaves and stuffed them down the front of my vest so that the figgy scent could waft around me for the rest of the day.
The Last Dreams
-
Naguib Mahfouz at the Paris Review: Dream 209 I found myself sitting with
President Gamal Abdel Nasser in a small garden, and he was saying: You may
be ask...
1 hour ago
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