“I’m happy to die while following my dreams” (or am I 🤔)
The Story of The Vanishing Crone
Dear reader,
From my fairly opulent sickbed—a kingsize rosewood frame and triple-ply cotton sheets—I can gaze out of my balcony window onto a crayfish-blue sky. A flat, bushy line of green palm tufts is the only thing punctuating the crisp, slightly unnerving, cloudless space above the earth.
From the elevated view of my third-floor aparthotel, off the Tr…