Life Talk
last leaf
In a community on the west side of Washington Square, the streets are intricately complex, forming rugged, narrow alleys called "alleys". These "alleys" form strange corners and curves. A street even crosses itself once or twice. An artist once discovered the value of this street: if a person collects paint, paper, and canvas, he will suddenly find himself back to the original place after turning around the street. But still empty-handed, did not recover a penny!
Therefore, people engaged in art soon gathered in this ancient and bizarre village of Greenwich. They wandered around, searching for north-facing windows, 18th-century gables, Dutch attics, and cheap rents. Then, they "imported" a few tin-lead alloy cups and one or two baking pans from the sixth rank area, which became their "stronghold".
There is a low three-story brick roof. There is Hugh and Joan Shan’s studio. Joanna is Joanna's nickname. One of them is from Maine and the other is from California. They met while having a meal in the "Delmonico" restaurant on Eighth Avenue. They found that they were so similar in art, food, clothing taste, and taste, so they jointly established a studio.
It was May. In November, a cold, invisible stranger suddenly broke into this area, and its icy claws were rampant-doctors called it "pneumonia." This ruthless ravager arrogantly wreaked havoc on the east side of the square, killing many lives. However, it slowed down in this narrow, congested, mossy, maze-like "alley".
"Mr. Pneumonia" is not the kind of old gentleman with the chivalry style you call. A weak woman who was blown away by the west winds of California was the opponent of this aggressive, aggressive old bastard. But it still did not let Qiongshan go. Joan Shan was lying motionless on the painted iron bedstead, staring at the blank wall of the brick house opposite through the Dutch pane.
One morning, the doctor with unkempt gray eyebrows hurriedly called Hugh into the corridor.
"Listen to me, her hope is only one-tenth," he said while flipping the thermometer to let the mercury column slide down, "and this ray of hope depends on her desire to survive. If people give up survival Thought, I want to go to the funeral home to line up, and there is nothing medicine can do. Your young lady believes that she can't get better-is there anything on her mind?"
"She—she thinks about painting the Gulf of Naples one day." Hugh said
thank you
Life Talk last leaf In a community on the west side of Washington Square, the streets are intricately complex, forming rugged, narrow alleys called "alleys". These "alleys" form strange corners and curves. A street even crosses itself once or twice. An artist once discovered the value of this street: if a person collects paint, paper, and canvas, he will suddenly find himself back to the original place after turning around the street. But still empty-handed, did not recover a penny! Therefore, people engaged in art soon gathered in this ancient and bizarre village of Greenwich. They wandered around, searching for north-facing windows, 18th-century gables, Dutch attics, and cheap rents. Then, they "imported" a few tin-lead alloy cups and one or two baking pans from the sixth rank area, which became their "stronghold". There is a low three-story brick roof. There is Hugh and Joan Shan’s studio. Joanna is Joanna's nickname. One of them is from Maine and the other is from California. They met while having a meal in the "Delmonico" restaurant on Eighth Avenue. They found that they were so similar in art, food, clothing taste, and taste, so they jointly established a studio. It was May. In November, a cold, invisible stranger suddenly broke into this area, and its icy claws were rampant-doctors called it "pneumonia." This ruthless ravager arrogantly wreaked havoc on the east side of the square, killing many lives. However, it slowed down in this narrow, congested, mossy, maze-like "alley". "Mr. Pneumonia" is not the kind of old gentleman with the chivalry style you call. A weak woman who was blown away by the west winds of California was the opponent of this aggressive, aggressive old bastard. But it still did not let Qiongshan go. Joan Shan was lying motionless on the painted iron bedstead, staring at the blank wall of the brick house opposite through the Dutch pane. One morning, the doctor with unkempt gray eyebrows hurriedly called Hugh into the corridor. "Listen to me, her hope is only one-tenth," he said while flipping the thermometer to let the mercury column slide down, "and this ray of hope depends on her desire to survive. If people give up survival Thought, I want to go to the funeral home to line up, and there is nothing medicine can do. Your young lady believes that she can't get better-is there anything on her mind?" "She—she thinks about painting the Gulf of Naples one day." Hugh said
thank you