
On the ground, everything was pitch-dark.
In the air, the colours were playing a bizarre game of tag, flirting with eachother.
The sunsets on the not-so-little hill are always blushing, or engraved with scarlet letters.
Throughout all seasons, we journey through the streets, archaeological discoveries in every step we take. Perugia, our love, where we buried bits of our youth and where our eyes and lenses conquered all.
Is that the sun's adultery with night? (Scarlet letter A)
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