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7.28.2004WE'D RATHER WALK.
This city is pretty in the rain, reacting like water from the sky is a
new idea. Cute indie girls with their faces turned up to meet the
weather as their boyfriends try to kiss them; herds of nice suits under
black umbrellas cramming into taxis, mutering about morning meetings
with Johnson and whether they're fit enough for the marathon. Steam
comes off the flooding streets like cold water on a skillet and for a
moment there's a chance that this time will see it all washed clean.
We'll wake up tomorrow to streets-turned-canals and a second chance.
Dry clothes and dark and stormies now. Tom Waits coming through shitty speakers like a fallen angel telling me dirty stories over stolen cigarettes. Good night by every meaning.
Comments:
Cool blog you have. I have a cello bag
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