Wednesday, April 1, 2015

ON A BENCH IN THE CITY

On a bench in the city, you can close your eyes and take in all the sounds around you, the rattling trams and the scuffling feet and the conversations nearby and the lethal weapon blues rock guitar solo the young asian hotshot is playing and the birds cooing and cheeping. Or sometimes you can sit on that same bench and kiss a young lady and all those things disappear. You are enveloped in a shroud of black and a cone of silence and all you can feel is the moistness of her lips and the beating of your heart. But the city does not like you to have these moments and will soon send a drunk person to upset your apple-cart, post haste.

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