Saturday, November 27, 2010


Ice cream cones are made in the winter.
Popcorn is popped in the summer.
Beer cans are thrown in the gutters.
The sun hides behind clouds.
It's monotonous.
It happens every day.
It's all the same.
It makes no sense to me.
Babies crying.
Women screaming at their husbands.
Husbands beating their women.
Old men rolling dice in alleys.
People killing each other.
It makes no sense.
The smog envelopes the city.
It's rush hour.
Another day.
More disappointment.
Throw a little joy in the mix.
Cocktails at five p.m.
Cocktails at eight a.m.
It doesn't matter what time they're served.
It's all the same.
There's no sense to any of it.
Especially the ice cream cones in the winter.

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