at the train station of eastern boundaries, people run to, blokes and their ladies. they run run, into the sun sun.the sun resembles to old beer, provoking girls to cheer, when an old mate might shed a tear, after dropping their so called solid gear. so it is the "sun", and wrinkled oranges, it is all done, with mosaiic deers over benches. don t try to step on the blanque zapatos, go away with these ultra - stilettos, in the midst of the night, human and dancers anthropomorphized there among others, a smile so bright keeping senses mesmerized the young folks all chit chatting, about shit they re remembering not lying actually, just bringin truth in a dark alley and there are the bellas, with their jimmy choos, the homeboi - fellas and the mista me too´s. chit chat - fit and phat. can we go haia? my eyes burn like fire. can we go rob a bakery? just need a little carb, baby. haia and ham ham. vanity empire ´n bois d´argent. happiness to hire. bucky done gone.
AOIDE, SELFPORTRAIT
