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Calvino, Italo

A Beautiful March Day

Crikes, in the haste of a working week I’d completely forgotten that despite not wanting to go straight to Calvino (because let’s face it, everyone expects Miette to read Calvino, and when have I ever met something so vile as an expectation?), I had mentally dog-eared this one for yesterday. And yes, I could wait a year, but in another year, who’s to say we’ll still be podCASTing at all? I mean, damn, for all I know, the latest technology fad next year this time will be some synaesthetic browser plugin allowing us to virtually taste each other’s complexions, and then I’d be awfully sorry that we’d never gotten around to reading this one. Then I’d be sad. And we all know what happens when I get sad. And who wants that, really?

Besides, it’s rather appropriate, thematically, that this should be a near-miss, that due to aimless thoughts I, too, have come close to missing my shot. In fact, now that I think about it, if I were less honest, I’d say reading this a day late was entirely intentional, and you’d think I was the cleverest bedtime story podcastress this side of Herculaneum. But I’m honest, and therefore, just late.

(This is one of the better fabulistories from Numbers in the Dark)

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