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Death and the Gardener
My father was a gardener. Now he is a garden. A man sits by his father's bedside and reports radically and gently until a final winter morning.His father was one of that generation of tragic smokers born right after the World War II in Bulgaria, who clung to the snorkels of their cigarettes. A rebel without a cause, he knew how to fail with heroic self-deprecation.The garden he created out of a...You can only write a review for items purchased in our store. Please make sure you are logged in to the account you used to purchase the item.