"What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset."
Crowfoot, Native American warrior and orator (1821-1890)
On the train back to the old place unsure if any memory is left there Surely there must be an old cigarette burn hissing embers fusing ...
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