I Was The Only Italian To Wear Corduroy

The Delusionoir Series


I was the only Italian to wear corduroy but today I had donned a gown which flowed around me much like my intellect pervaded campus. Today I was Harry Potter and the Anthropologist’s Stone. I was Socrates off to Nepal via Tibet via The West Bank and girls and women alike blushed in sexual embarrassment as I swept past them at their alfresco tables.  I stopped for a frappuccino by the charred remains of the West Pier and so poor mama could catch up. She had a disposable camera to take some photos for posterity. This town would remember me but I needed to take a photo to remember it by.  I sipped tenderly on the straw because my prize lips are prone to bruising and today  was graduation day and I was to deliver my acceptance speech to a million strong audience who needed to hear my thoughts on human rights and foreign exchange as a tool for development.


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