The plastered walls have lost transparency. Yellowed age, a bit rusted. The carelessly left door sang a soliloquy. A slice of the sun's temperature, peeped in. The glass penned time was sleepy, off stale nicotine.
The stale outline of the morning tea, bordered the bone china.
"How are you?"
"The city's spent..."
"Haven't caught up, in a long time!"
"Adulterated hourglass. Busy street play..."
"Can't we keep the wordplay aside?"
"Don't you do literature?"
To be continued...
The stale outline of the morning tea, bordered the bone china.
"How are you?"
"The city's spent..."
"Haven't caught up, in a long time!"
"Adulterated hourglass. Busy street play..."
"Can't we keep the wordplay aside?"
"Don't you do literature?"
To be continued...
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