Someone called me Hemingway-like. So, um…
Holly goes to Pamplona, to the running of the bulls, because she’s a tourist and she does. She meets another woman who is running too, and they feel a connection. And then they have some sex.
So worst blurb ever, yes? There’s a reason. I’m carefully not trying to convince you to read this. It’s something of a weird, elaborate joke. And also, at the same time, it isn’t. It has some sex. It has some other stuff. It describes San Fermín. You might like it. Maybe.
Anyways, the point of this is to say thank you to someone. Yep, in a totally over the top way.
So here goes. A dedication, which I know I should put here, but am anyway, so…. Thank you. And yes, obviously I did see, and I’ll try my best, and thank you so much. So this is for you, basically, if you want it, haha. And I have your home page or whatever you’d call it bookmarked, so I can read yours but not any others. Just to avoid meltdowns and batshit, while seeing the good parts. So yeah. And I hope you’re okay with this kind of circumspect and indirect way of talking, because, yeah, like I explained…
So anyways, dedication done. Read if you will, and ignore this if you’d rather not, and how’s that for unnecessary mysteriousness that is incomprehensible to anyone else?
Oh yeah, I haven’t actually read Hemingway. This isn’t meant to be like him or anything. Just sex and bulls and sadness.
And before I get crap about the whole cow-murder thing, there is a thing about not being mean to animals too, and please don’t say a thing if you plan to eat meat in the next month. And also, this is Hemingway-like so it had to have fucking bulls and death. Concentrate on how I’m reclaiming narratives or some shit.