Diary of a Baltic exile

  • 2003-11-13
Riga, Riga, Riga. Sometimes it's all too much for me, to put it mildly. Sometimes I feel as if I just want to get away from it all. I imagine myself buying a nice house somewhere out in the countryside, where I could forget about everything. I'd buy some cows and ducks and goats and stuff, and just sit there and watch them. In the mornings I'd stroll through the dew-tinged forest, feeling drunk from the invigorating fresh air and the forest's overwhelming fragrances. In the evening I'd peacefully ponder life's mysteries while sitting on an old wooden bench in the garden, and listening to th...
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