We could see from a solid distance, your rakish note to yourself, you mixed mediums .. no parochial shit.

We all have our own crowds that relish lyricism mounting a central stairway. Sour notes suggest quick detours and offsides. A couple of hours pass. There’s been vintage aversion within the pulsar, around a corner noise from sirens lifts up the galaxy. Sunshine starts to feel like a slap in the face.

Milling around is jammed.