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. Yeah, it is 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 b*****t, 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 there you go. Oh yeah, I haven’t actually read Hemingway much, so this isn’t meant to be like him or anything. Just sex and bulls and sadness. So anyways, dedication done.
And everyone else, um, 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? Um, thank you for looking.