(no subject)
So I sit, in this quite uncomfortable chair, and comtemplate the words that run out of the mouth and the finger tips. Stories sung in blue grass in my ears, and a sight of mundane in my eyes. There's three of them and they sit in a circle talking, but their words evaporate into the music and nothing is heard. They smoke malboro reds and smile with their teeth and their eyes. I'm curious as to what's being said, and catch myself opening the blinds and staring, but only lose one eye, watching them talk with their hands. I get bored..