04.05.04

After the moist attack which lasted for several outstretched minutes, the sun arrives, falling drunk into the street. Every leaf is cupping a table-spoon of rememberance, clinging to the high like a boisterous blend of nicotine, swilling through the paper veins. Above the houses the clouds retreat, a depleting formation of grey. Small feet connect with cement, the sticky rain licking rubber. The birds stalk soil, pendulum eyed, for any attempt of escape. Chimneys start to breathe again, stale air moves through compact passages, coughing like the man who stands drenched across the road. His cotton hair collapsed across his chalky skull, fighting for an un-diluted breath. He lights a cigarette that plays with the honey glistening smile of the sun picking from his skin, a tired and heavy vest.