American Italics, or Revelation According to P.T. Barnum

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Letter From Venice

As in some picaresque dream, the carousel that has been spinning out a tale of broken hearts and mistaken identities begins to slow down, the roulette wheel grows disenchanted with the last bourgeois revolution, and all of a sudden even the drum of the concrete mixer that is shadowing the Venetian’s limousine all the way to the airport grinds to a gravelly stop.

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