bordas de hielo significado de los colores

I look at my watch: a single raindrop like a tear on the crystal. My wife and I take the Tube then a bus to a museum that specializes in anthropology, natural history, and musical instruments. They sing like new birds and rarely look at us—sing mostly to the floor or the popcorn-textured ceiling. I am buttoning my coat against the cold when I encounter a doo-wop foursome, dressed to the nines, in front of the theater. The foreign songs foreign to me fly above the audience, not unlike birds.

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