Metalium - Pain Crawles In The Night

In late January, on the eve of her birthday, having bought a fair amount of piano concerts and famous quartets from old Glotzer, we went to the mountains. My old friend, an oceanographer, had long been offering me the keys to a cozy chalet on the edge of the village. She skated wonderfully, my girl; knees clenched together, hit with the tip of a ski stick left, right, a burnt nose and clouds instead of eyes on the glasses of round alpine glasses. In the evening, a log burned slowly out in a huge fireplace, sweaters and socks were dried on the backs of chairs set to the fire, snow hung in the black window frame with white threads, and we, lying on the floor opposite the fire, leafed through magazines thirty years old under Saranda Handel, under the bamboo flute of the Japanese Yamamoto .