"And so Iris flew through the sky on her dewy saffron wings, trailing a thousand different colors across the sun." – Virgil, The Aeneid
It’s not what I do for a living that defines me. It’s what I do to live.
Let me tell you a story about a girl and her love affair with pelagics.
I died and went to cheese heaven.
A warm welcome to freezing Amsterdam.
How do I even begin to write about Paris?