From sparse dealings across an expanse to the close quarters of crashing waves of too many days and not quite enough start to faze each other. Food finds the back of the fridge a cool place to reside as the sweat from the brow pools itself watching and squeezing towels between the cracks in the footpath.
Time manages to repeat itself, and hold onto a static pattern with the look of walking out the door any second now. Herein lies the want, the wake of the day into the afternoons and it's clearly only the start of darkness.
Stretching one edge of the city to another, fleet rubber soles, with the strength of metal as skeletons, cross the plains dutifully with an ever present sense of collapse.
Soon Van - Friday, 13 April 2007 - 22:31
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