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Who could have guessed, Marcus? He was like an old crumpled railway timetable with a black and white routine. Bathing in the river at four, dripping all over the polished mosaic, prayers rumbling in his throat, the ash smeared on his forehead white as the midsummer sun, he had gods scrambling out of their beds, so they would be ready to receive his prostrations. 206 more words
A tiny fan, perfect for travel
When you’re traveling far from home, little things matter. Like fans, for example.
When I arrived in Guadalajara last night, the temperature was nearly 90 degrees Fahrenheit—not unusual for this time of year, but warm enough to cause me to sweat as I made my way from the airplane to the baggage claim area. 205 more words