Don't let the scowls fool you: my brothers weren't really angry, and they don't really hate me.
"I’d sit cross-legged in the box, filtering the sand over and over again through an old spaghetti strainer, getting rid of the sticks and leaves that had fallen, until it was almost as fine as right after he poured the sand from the bag. That was perfect sand."
Sunday, March 16, 2008
London - Part 7
Don't let the scowls fool you: my brothers weren't really angry, and they don't really hate me.
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