Jon
Monday, December 4, 2000
arsip tempo : 173510706363.
When I recently read a letter from Cardinal Carlo Maria Martini to Umberto Eco, I was reminded of Jon. I knew him thirty years ago.
He was someone who always had a knife tucked in his belt. Almost every night he would drop by Sarini’s food stall, her portable rice baskets sandwiched between six flower stalls, near the unused railway line and a near-black river. "My name’s Jon", he said.
His hair was disheveled, his moustac
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