Within seven days you can do a lot of damage, even become the scum of society. Tragically, you could be already the most despised person of them all, but nobody is brave enough to tell you. Here comes a world prop, which can make you realize just how things are going in your life.
“Sunday streets have no name.”
Q: What am I to you?
A: Piece of flesh. The unknown lover. The coughing street schizophrenic.
Q: What are you to me?
A: An overthrown chess figure. The last yet-to-melt-away snow on the hills near by. The train I was supposed to get on.
I’m the missing link between a Hobo and The Man.
Arriving on time is the new black.
You should worry more about the future cause the past drove you to insanity.
You can talk to me about everything. Anything. Just say something!
“How about giving it a break.” Sadly, these were his last words to her, before they broke up by driving off the cliff. It runs in her family.
Her sensations were obliterated by ominous sounds of caucasian males trying to ask her out. She grew cold, emotionless. Despite all that, she craved for the ominous sounds. It made her believe in God. It made her special. It made her beautiful, desired, but utterly hollow. She didn’t know what the suitors wanted.
Homme fait des rêves.