20 March, 2010

032010
It takes an acquired taste to appreciate the simplicity of a small, undulous town. Fort Morgan is strewn with silent corners, such as the 18-hole golf course at which I spend all of my spare time. For college, and paraphernalia I suppose, the job is worth the monogamous hours. Lying on my makeshift bed of café chairs, reading My Life in France and all of Julia Child’s voicey pages, I can appreciate the quiet corners.
I might feel differently tonight, however, when I’m at le accueil alone and perhaps a tad depressed, bored to misery.

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