returned from reading the Leoncavallo in Milan (btw, thanks to all the rabbits to me waiting to eliselle and Angela Buccella that I was pumped when I read their book, then you micol that vanished into thin air and people who francesca now meet even end up in the elevator) your never too venerable praised in Genoa where he is back, in order, made nine liters of oil by throwing away about 60 pounds of olives full of those damned-worm fly, printed in two copies, one of his sci-fi romance that has shipped with great difficulties in a popular contest for reviews of genre (culminating with the venerable great difficulty trying in vain to keep a hand in 700 A4 sheets, in a second-hand box of the Italian joint whose instructions were printed on the Click on the box itself, a son unenne coming out from the post office to go directly under the center line as the lemmings say they do, a young lady who told me the go ahead but the box calmly on the table that would otherwise block my tail (indicating a small table of 50 cm by 50 cm occupied entirely by a large lady intent on drafting something that would have to do with his statements wills, having regard to the treatment)), started a optimistic convoluted story called for something to do with radiohead, found a wonderful publisher for his next novel that will speak to aliens, Raelians, candy candy, David Crane, the reincarnation of Strindberg and much more. more info coming. ah, I also have a tax audit in progress.
0 comments:
Post a Comment