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mozart
I cannot decide whether the landscape of Austria looks familiar or like a fairytale. A bit of both, perhaps. At times I am reminded of New England and Pennsylvania Dutch country, and at others I'm thinking it's MOTHERFUCKING AUSTRIA. No, it is the hills that are distinctly foreign and fairytale-ish, alternately covered in patches of forest and rolling green. The hills of Vermont and Pennsylvania are similar, but seem more like an artist painting a picture from memory rather than life.
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Today and tomorrow are for music. I came to Austria for one purpose, and that was to fangirl Mozart. Is it strange to admit a crush on a dead genius? The irony of these days being for music is that I have broken my headphones on the way over and therefore cannot listen to any. How gauche and American could I get, to wander Stephansplatz in search of an Apple store and coffee to go?
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