In lack of anything more important to do, I have spent the whole day at the office wondering about this. At home Houellebecq, Pamuk and French grammar must wait while I am desperately reading the libretto for La Bohème; was Mimi at some point in contact with pigs?

(With my my constant urge for romance, drama and death, well, I could also have settled with a life as an opera singer. Dying in the arms of José Cura, what a wonderful Mimi I could have been.)
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