“On the empty street, a corpse lay, waiting for the cart to take it to the plague pit; next to it lay a poor piper, untouched by disease, but dead drunk. He would come to his senses in the early hours of the following morning, in the plague pit, with soft earth on his face, and cold flesh beneath him, and believe himself in hell…”
— Brief Lives
April 07, 2009, 3:12am
