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a completely bank holiday mad dash through Copenhagen leaves me wishing there was more time; the city is beautiful, like Amsterdam only more capacious, more direct.
Long sprawling avenues under low, lazy streetlights, caressed by swarms of cyclists guided by their very own miniature traffic signals.
), we arrive hours early at the airport on yesterdays unpunched tickets.
Italy is relaxed about most everything, particularly public transit and saturated fats, and you can get great mileage off a single purchase, especially if you look all doe eyed and foreign. I get a baleful eye from customs as my passport is unstamped; why am I not stamped with entry to Italy?
Then I remember I'm here for a big fetish party, god has bigger fish to fry and so, for that matter, does sand.
I'd sink into a bed, between the pale flour of her thighs.
Visits to the museum dell'opera and the baptistry beneath the tower, the latter having demonstrably the most stunning acoustics I've ever heard.
Herons carouse majestically over the many parks, rubbing feathers with wood pigeons and swans, that hiss like alabaster alley cats when you approach.
Our foray precedes the queens annual procession through the city center, and though our spandex schedule can't allow room for her august presence, soldiers pipe and snap along the route, anticipating.
Sherri doffed her unsightly garb to contribute to a collaboration with myself and Malady Charlotina, whereby she shall paint upon some of my images, depicting saintly icons in a carnival environment, martyrs for the masses.
But as the painting part will take time, I became bored and made a placeholder there is such a thing as too much empathy and I'm a victim of it.