I arrive, I arrive in winter, I did not like the city I left, I do not like the one I found, and I've seen elsewhere. Workers back a bucket at the end of a string. I do not know what material they draw on local street. I know what I bring, at the end of my chain. I do not scream, that's it. I'll announce it at the office, under the stairs of the upper town, to see if the echo back my whisper. While waiting to meet with buyers.
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