April 15, 2017 1 min read

Walking mindfully to the post office this morning with packages to scatter slowly around the world, I made a mental note to buy biscuits for the crippled man holed up on the corner of Parikrama and Bhaktivendanta Marg.

The post office was closed today. I ask, and after some stammering, an attempt at an unfamiliar name, I was told it was a nation wide holiday in honor of some past president with a name something like Umberto

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