Strange how seemingly unrelated nodes in the unfathomable fabric of space and time do connect, after all. Let me elaborate: upon seeing us trying to dodge a chore we had been assigned, my grandma used to say, in her very own sardonic, surrealist and often cryptic way (usually preceding engagement in some sort of light, almost laughable -almost- physical punishment):
“Let all the work for the Romans, for their chest is made of brass!”.
(Peplums still were all the rage back then, of course. And she was glorious.)
![006[1]-002 thumbnail](https://pulpcovers.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/0061-002-73x100.jpg)
![031[1]-002 thumbnail](https://pulpcovers.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/0311-002-67x100.jpg)
![006[1]-002](https://pulpcovers.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/0061-002.jpg)
![031[1]-002](https://pulpcovers.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/0311-002.jpg)
Strange how seemingly unrelated nodes in the unfathomable fabric of space and time do connect, after all. Let me elaborate: upon seeing us trying to dodge a chore we had been assigned, my grandma used to say, in her very own sardonic, surrealist and often cryptic way (usually preceding engagement in some sort of light, almost laughable -almost- physical punishment):
“Let all the work for the Romans, for their chest is made of brass!”.
(Peplums still were all the rage back then, of course. And she was glorious.)