Cortazar’s Hopscotch has to return to the library. This is a problem for the two of us. His Hopscotch is/was to become my scotch hop. My hopping has been scotched by the new/old couches and the fine tuners on the cello and the violin end biteen that threatened to break and the hip that didn’t break
and
and
and
A 1,3,7,5,9er.