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Bad LuckBad Luck
Jeffery woke with a start. He had been having rather a good dream and was therefore fairly annoyed to have it so abruptly interrupted. His eyes only half open, he sat up, hitting his head on the angled ceiling of his attic bedroom. With a low grunt of pain followed by a huge yawn, he swung his legs out of bed and put on his slippers. He sat still on his bed, thinking about his dream. For eight hours he had been a millionaire, had a beautiful house, beautiful clothes, a beautiful wife, a beautiful family, beautiful everything, he had been the happiest man in the world. Then he had woken up due to a loud bang caused by a bird flying into his window. Brought back to reality, he looked around at a single pound coin and a penny on the table, then around at his small and extremely cluttered bedroom, his old and ragged clothes and finally his ancient and useless cat lying asleep on the rug in the corner of the room. The only reason he knew that it wasnt dead was that he could s
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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