it is almost November and i was visiting London yet another time in a space of weeks, walking down Chiswick was something. and i wonders in the season of raining trees which we call in our broken languages Autumn. how would a pigeon sees London.
now i have few stories to tell and i promised to tell Julia’s story soon and i will keep my promise and do my middle class dance as i should … after all i only aim to please
the thing about this season is that it is a season to mix up stories with reality, somehow it is like Spring the difference would be that in Spring you mix the stories with hope and daydream them, while in Autumn disappointment is usually is the secrete ingredient… you see when you mix something with hope no body calls you a lair, i do not see a Spring daydream any more honest than an Autumn story.
enough said for now and i will be back telling more