last drink sold, only the mere remains of a pint left abandoned by a cube of turquoise chalk to collect. A mop washes away any signs of footprints worn onto the floor during the evening rush with a citrus hue. lightbulbs snap off, ancient beams creak as the
old building sighs and drifts to sleep. weary feet stumble their way automatically to the car. The engine grumbles to life after an evening left in the rain. Suddenly through the speakers flows a song that paralyses everything as its so beautiful that any noise or movement or action may spoil it. so you sit and watch raindrops courteously waltz in silence down the windscreen, you hold your breath and you listen.
xXx
No comments:
Post a Comment