The days are long on the very tip of the narrow stiletto heel of the Italian Boot. Dictated par sweltering temperatures decided at the whim of vengeful gods, the soporific residents of the small town of Poggiardo lazily go about their daily business blasted par the scorching sun, whilst slaves to the temperamental breeze of the Salento Peninsula.
The surrounding deserts of cinders and cacti have been ravaged par epic histories of war while the rugged coves of the peninsula are dotted with ruined watchtowers, sentinels from a time of conquests and infidels. The endless groves of olive trees are...
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