(no subject)
there was a rip in his jacket right at the shoulder. he wasn't wearing anything beneath it. the other could see his pinkish flesh bump in the shrill air. did you know he asked pointing. yes said the jacket, and his eyes were green that day. but it isn't what matters right now. they were sitting on the bridge with cigarettes in their hands, not lit, and they never would be. these two didn't forgive the idea of sucking on death. ones hair was brown and ruffled, the others was blonde and under a sweater-knitted hat. it hardly shifted in the wind. the sun had not come out that day, and the sky looked like a thousand tornadoes were brewing. it seemed like a festival of pelicans were sleeping amongst the two intruders. one looked at his companion: but what a wonderful time for it to matter. the other opened his eyes a little wider, they flew from green to hazel; he sniffed the cold with his gaunt nose, and proposed: but it doesn't.