July 17, 2004


He is a sign, a sign for the blue people. You look at him as one big idol
of radicalism which is ruined by love. You drink all night. You
chain-smoke like a train. May be you wear white suit and keep your gaze on
something over far far nowhere horizons. You'd become HB, come out as one
little HB. You find yourself in him and his circumstances; "We've always
been to Casablanca, once.". Puff on your cigarette, drink your now warm
whiskey shot and whisper to yourself : "Of all the gin joints in all the
towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

Posted by Shervin at July 17, 2004 06:55 PM
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