"There is a smell like now we're part of the city. That's yeah, exactly," he says. "It's like a journalist describing into us but now we're just in it." He adds: 'Now that we've helped build it, we're still in it' And then this it's a little a boy playing a flute. All the little idyllic parts of old women passing out flowers to all young men wearing it with their shining hair. Trumpet sounding the horses. Sober faced young riders. Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe one more thing. Should we just read some