Rostropovich, with a full sweep of his bow, poured out Bach in front of this wall that, before the world's eyes, was being dissolved by hammers and picks and the words of thousands of angry people, fed up with borders that broke or crushed or killed. Friends told me I stayed glued to the TV, insisting we should all be there to support this moment of history.
Years later, that wall disappeared into tourist souvenirs pieces, sold at flea markets and fairs and I even bought some as gifts for a few dear friends.
But it didn't die. That wall reappeared in other lands and in many hearts. And the endless efforts to bring it down happens day after day and night after night, maybe not with hammers and picks, but always with words.
The Dog Days Of Summer - This Week: A Nightmarish Chili-Cheese Dog @: Portillo’s - *So I was going to go to a place in East Peoria for a hot dog and my GPS got me all fucked up and I was running late, so I decided on going to Portillo’...
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