Dark Horses and Black Beauties [antikvár]

TIME MACHINE I wouldn't mind feeling it again, the first time I fell in love. Everyone has her own story, and everyone loses it somewhere down the line in the bottom of a drawer along with several broken keychains. Hard to believe that it once was the pulsating center of the known universe, your love, and the energy flew off it like those eruptions on the surface of the sun, spurting thousands of miles into space. But that was so long ago. There remain buried bits of concrete evidence that I lived such a life, and with a little amateur archaeology, I can find what is left after the rains of time have expunged the mass of it. This year, as I stand on the edge of middle age, my mother dismays