the girl who said fuck frequently walked on a cobblestoned road embraced by trees. the last of few.
motivation
the man who had just been given a seven minute long motivational speech of the Most Outstanding Quality blinked. the Speech Giver, a presumably wise, interesting-smelling old man on the skywalk by the station, had disappeared.
the girl in the pink top
Ryan and I sat on brown benches yesterday.
a jib crane and eventual death
a jib crane and eventual death the caving metal roof, last century’s rust
nothing but
she sat in the rickety purple train with nothing but a yellowing photograph, a bar of chocolate, and a dream.
five more minutes
I don’t wear a watch, I find a watch, spy on everybody, scan every wrist. Who has the time? I do, stolen, sneakily obtained by immoral means, by bending and turning my head and casually stretching to feign interest in strange black birds whispering outside the windows of monotonous chemistry classes. (when does this end?)
What?
“Fasdfz djsnu” “What?”
