Last night I was in a Boston brasserie, and the woman next to me apologized about the bruises on her face making her look like a raccoon due to her recent face lift. She was a great character, obviously old money Boston (Hermes scarf etc), but her recommendation on the steak tartar (there are only 2 places in Boston to get it) was right on the money.
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I would believe only in a God that knows how to Dance.
Friedrich Nietzsche
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