1984

December 29, 2006

IT WAS a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.

Posted by Bill Trippe at December 29, 2006 10:18 AM

Trackback Pings

TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://www.billtrippe.com/cgi-bin/mt/mt-tb.cgi/244

support this blog