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Showing posts from September, 2012

Witty retorts, horses snorts down in Virginia City

Taste: tart grape from the vine   Sight: hills, wild horses; abandoned mills, a dark tunnel with black pools   Sound: train whistles, squeaking wheels on the tracks; "Wild Horses" by The Sundays Touch: lake, smooth granite, dank, wet tunnels Smell: sourdough bread   Extra: geographic boundaries-the great span of the U.S.; mines, Gold Hill Saloon & Hotel, Suicide Rock, Comstock Lode, mercantile, The Bucket of Blood Saloon; "If thou do but touch him, thou animated offal, I will spit thee like a goose!" Mark Twain's Prince and The Pauper   Grateful for: family, memories