//August 15, 2010//
A whistle, some other heavy voice, and we know we arrived on some little place. It is the same, with you and your usual gags. It’s just the place and the people who speak in some other dialect. Oh, we’re both losing mind to step on any other kind of soil. We’re both being a fool to think it’s usual for strangers like us. To lean on some shoulder and smile. We’re not riding on a hot air balloon and without some parachute. We’re just stepping the ground and watching painting. I’ve spent some films, some flash, and a bowl of soup. You’ve spent the smile, and it is enough. You’re being nostalgic again, showing roads with some memories and some other tease. I’m buying postcards and bargaining some gift. Then again, we’re both losing mind to think it’s somewhat romantic.