I'm already ... When we meet again? In their eyes, I can not conceal a little sadly.
not close the session, he says, not yet. A chat together write the screenplay for this story. Give it a title. (Any excuse keeps me dumb, I think ...)
Is the memory of the gargoyles? I suggest to evoke the mystery of the moon cast shadows on the Baroque buildings, the dark hallways near the port, his hand on my shoulder ...
Guess my nostalgia, smiles, is recreated, it proposes: Or "The memory of the oyster mushrooms" and we can continue writing in the woods, this autumn ...?
Is the memory of the gargoyles? I suggest to evoke the mystery of the moon cast shadows on the Baroque buildings, the dark hallways near the port, his hand on my shoulder ...
Guess my nostalgia, smiles, is recreated, it proposes: Or "The memory of the oyster mushrooms" and we can continue writing in the woods, this autumn ...?
has cooled but is still summer, I shudder.
and skin experts predict a good year for mushrooms.
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