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Birthplace

By Nicolai Kunchev / February 9, 1984



What if time came to a stop? Surely the end would be struck dumb. Up on the hill the house where you were born is waiting for you to build it once more. How and with what - bricks, wasn't it? The chimney's all you can remember: smoke vanishing in spirals like the string of a kite flown from heaven toward the earth. Translated from the Bulgarian by Jascha Kessler and Alexander Shurbanovm

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