To be in St. Petersburg is to tip-toe around the edges of a porcelain a faberge egg. There is something fragile, delicate, gilded about every memory I hold of my city. There is something romantic about its crooked and uneven pavements,…
Homecoming
I never got around to publishing this last week. I’m working on something about my time in St. Petersburg now, but my feelings are so different from what I wrote last week that I feel this needs to be published…