Umbrellas up– though rain’s just a tap away– glasses out and bottles uncorked. Riveted. They all forget, the visitors, that this is a job. Fantasy, they say.. Sell the fantasy. Wine is fantasy. Precisely! The severed relative of reality.
Umbrellas up– though rain’s just a tap away– glasses out and bottles uncorked. Riveted. They all forget, the visitors, that this is a job. Fantasy, they say.. Sell the fantasy. Wine is fantasy. Precisely! The severed relative of reality.