La vida Bárbara

There is a historic and hysterical month of August. There is a patrician family dedicated to the eternal preservation of the Ancient Roman Empire. There is a final, twilight-era descendant: Augusto (or Augustus). There is a literary, captivating young woman held captive by a related—yet savage and foreign—invading tribe: Barbara (unaccented). There is a builder of other people's lives who takes notes and drinks Brulard vermouth. There is a Great City and a Small Town plagued by a tourist infestation. There are beer cans and bothersome neighbors. There is an invented, dreamed-up god who simply wants to be remembered. There is a taciturn giant from a silent movie. There is a decadent, mind-bending poet. There is a delusional sci-fi writer in decline. There are bands of fierce, elegant British rockers. There is the style of the elements of a fragile yet immortal love. There are indestructible ruins. There is an invincible opening question. There are initial reactions—sincere or otherwise. There are final words—true or false. There is, was, and will be a single Word that counts: To Tell.