every time i think of you it makes me sweat.

Jun 14, 2004 06:45

And with the softest blow of the wind, his hair moved slightly and then stopped. He was at his eighth ciagarette burning down to his lungs and then back out in to the already polluted air. She was there, as always, behind the kitchen counter of the restarurant across the road. It was now tradtition for the two to make their eyes meet every once in a while, without any repeating pattern. They both didnt know why they would do this every day. Maybe because they lonely, and had to treat themselves to stupid games at the age of twenty eight; where some might say is they point of no return. Where everything ends and dies there, or begins and carries on.
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