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Chekhov thought for a year before writing a word of "Three Sisters". I wonder what I'm getting ready myself.


One thing I like to do most of all is to go hunting licenses. In the words I hear, chain sounds so funny or so right that look like heads floating in the void of the mist of one of these evenings Po Valley. Severed heads, ghosts looking for a dead body that supports it. They are so fascinating and terrible, detached. The'm watching. Mica
always find a body, sometimes fluctuate for a long time.
Then you see the link that was missing for years. I had read it, when? A year ago? Two? I had not noticed, yet it was so clear that it was the right body. I will leave scare little.
Now I have to find it was a magazine, was a newspaper must be somewhere here the corpse of my psychic killer.