IN THE SMOKE > How many times have I waited for you at the station in the cold, in the fog. I walked gnawing, buying unmentionable newspapers, smoking Juba then suppressed by the Minister of tobacco, the fool! Maybe a wrong train, a duplication or a subtraction. I scanned the barrows of porters, if ever there was inside your luggage, and you behind, late. Then he appeared last. It is a thing among many others. In the dream haunts me.
(Eugenio Montale)
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