Natale su Mulberry Street

I want to travel on a train that smells like snowflakes. I want to sip in cafes that smell like comets.–I want the newspapers I read to smell like the violins left in pawnshops by weeping hobos on Christmas Eve.–And when I gaze at a televised picture of the moon, I want to detect, from a distance of 239,000 miles, the aroma of fresh mozzarella.”
― Tom Robbins, Wild Ducks Flying Backward

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