Browsing the English titles on the bookshelf I pulled out a tattered copy of Hemingway’s ‘Green Hills of Africa’. Resting the book on the shelf I opened it near the beginning and was greeted with the sight of a small brown scorpion advancing up the margin near the spine. Continue reading
I was 80-years too late, but then I suspect I knew I always would be. The canning factories are still there but they have been dressed up in bright new paint and fancy lettering.