There are events that remain in memory not as a date or a dry chronicle entry, but as a state. They cannot be recorded, written into an activity plan, or announced from a government tribune. They return with noise, long hair, the sound of guitars, the smell of autumn leaves, and a strange feeling that the big world suddenly begins right here – in a small town by two rivers.
There are events that remain in memory not as a date or a dry chronicle entry, but as a state. They cannot be recorded, written into an activity plan, or announced from a government tribune. They return with noise, long hair, the sound of guitars, the smell of autumn leaves, and a strange feeling that the big world suddenly begins right here – in a small town by two rivers.