Flaneur Framed in the upper room's window, segmented machine limbs shine like black chitin:
From the cafe, I watch the street's catwalk: spaghetti-strapped high-breasted art students, backpackers, suburban MILFs, sk8ters, black-robed Muslims, Asian girls in flip-flops carrying instrument cases: Asian girls from the mainland dressed in odd color combinations:
A goth in a pink plaid skirt with a big gold pin gives me her belly: New couples hold hands, seriously: Swarming fragile alliances of more than 3 girls, generally with one fat:
Women in gowns walk toward the Embassy Ball: Daughters all cut from the same cloth take the arms of the Dads, daisy fresh from their days of saying "Show me the money" in not so many words:
Angel's gym, a masonry pile, has all the solidity of bank cornerstoned 1928: The Cybex machines reciprocate tirelessly, never pausing, drooping, sagging, stopping.
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>> posted by John Psmyth
• 5/22/2006 12:12:00 PM
•
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