Coming home from business trips, which I took a lot, was odd. It was as if the world, of Siena or Frankfurt or Seoul or Cannes or London or Delhi, didn’t matter at all. Nor did Russia or Japan. What mattered was in the apartment on 85th Street or in the houses at Sleepy Hollow or Newtown. The trees went to green at the appropriate time and their lea…
© 2024 John Oliver
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