The steer ran awkwardly and the bull caught him, hooked him lightly in the flank, and then turned away and looked up at the crowd on the walls, his crest of muscle rising.
BEIRUT — I'm starting to feel like I own the city again. I'm memorizing it physically, learning the routes. Route/routine. It hits me that this is what a routine is — a kind of route.
BURGUNDY – One-handed cheese service can be a challenge when a stationary cheese board is on the table. The ability to pirouette amid a boisterous Burgundy-fueled throng struck me as a miracle.
"I forgot that I was looking at the ruin of a picture and thought I might be seeing it when Leonardo was slowly, and bit by bit, building it up." An excerpt from H.V. Morton's "A Traveler in Italy."
PARIS – Was living here part of a carefully cultivated image, a way to give rich patrons the edgy thrill of slumming? Or did building a little house cost that much money, even here?
"That's when I looked left and saw the opera house itself, so grand I'd missed it, shimmering like wet fondant, like a great domed cake." A Paris excerpt from "The Last Nude."
