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Pickle Me This

February 28, 2008

And then I wrote to Jean

“The letter was from me. When I wrote it I was on a train with Gwenny on my way to Paris… Outside there was nothing but rocks and dust. A man with stormy edges was telling me the story of his life. He was only six when I interrupted him.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘I must write a letter. Do you have any paper?’
‘And he turned out to be a paper merchant with suitcases filled with paper, papyrus, root paper, paper made from crushed beetles, moist paper, blotting, thin parchment, petal notelets, envelopes made from industrial waste, fried and boiled paper. He displayed his wares on the train seat and I picked a strange mottled shade of handmade parchment which was the most expensive of the range.
And then I wrote to Jean…” –Julia Darling, Crocodile Soup

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