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Je croyais respirer le parfum de ton sang

All my inspiration in one neat little place.

We didn’t love each other, so we would make love with an objective and critical virtuosity, but then we would fall into terrible silences and the foam on the beer glasses would start to look like burlap, getting warm and shriveling up while we looked at each other and figured that this was ‘Time’.

Julio Cortázar

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