I want the newspapers I read to smell like the violins left in pawnshops by weeping hobos on Christmas Eve.
I want to carry luggage that reeks of the neurons in Einstein’s brain.
I want a city’s gases to smell like the golden belly hairs of the gods.
And when I gaze at a televised picture of the moon, I want to detect,
from a distance of 239,000 miles, the aroma of fresh mozzarella.
(from Wild Ducks
Flying Backward by Tom Robbins)
9*/10. The complete review is here.
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