Beautiful hot day I miss the sun I hate the sun Face lathered in aloe Flaking Peeling Burnt Post-lunch hot salsa logic needs a walkabout stuck inside with you, my only fan and your successful breeze.
"He's got a lot of irons in the fire", she whispered, several feet away from the bar not knowing that he hears everything.
Everything!
It is quite maddening sometimes. Or atleast it used to be. Now he can weave mariachi with chainsaws; bowed cymbals with bees buzzing; bird calls with babbling seamen and jingling trinkets.
He doesn't mind at all, you see.
It just the music of his city.
1 comment:
my only fan.....
beautiful.
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