Iphigenia's Necessitarian Cage and the Horror of the Contingent - Philip Armstrong - Bog

The young man stood at the top of the Großer Beerberg as if a golden statue of ancient days. With bare feet fixed to the ground, the plaid trekker's shirt cast casually aside, and the sun-bleached hair tied out of the way in a pony-tail, he drew his breath, raised the bell of his trumpet, and played his dramatic music.