faute-de-mieux:

We took the bus down to Paradiso, on the fringes of Lugano, and bought tickets for the funicolare, the little train which crept up the side of Mt. San Salvatore. We squeezed inside with throngs of tourists and stared out the windows as the funicolare climbed, climbed, climbed. Trees and bushes and rocks lined the route to the top. It was hard to get a sense of what was around you, beyond you. I kept thinking of all the times I’d watched the funicolare from my window across the valley. I’d watched it inch up the mountain like a red lizard, occasionally disappearing from view behind trees and then reappearing again, slipping in and out of the trees.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 This book is my heart.

faute-de-mieux:

We took the bus down to Paradiso, on the fringes of Lugano, and bought tickets for the funicolare, the little train which crept up the side of Mt. San Salvatore. We squeezed inside with throngs of tourists and stared out the windows as the funicolare climbed, climbed, climbed. Trees and bushes and rocks lined the route to the top. It was hard to get a sense of what was around you, beyond you. I kept thinking of all the times I’d watched the funicolare from my window across the valley. I’d watched it inch up the mountain like a red lizard, occasionally disappearing from view behind trees and then reappearing again, slipping in and out of the trees.

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 This book is my heart.

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