Jimmit a tubby one and his wife same shape same posture.
She sat more hopeful sat at the trainside, hoping for a ticket.
Speculating about the passer's by.
As I do in this very moment.
Little fat leather bags with their personal items and snacks
Their rounded bodies fit into the bench as if they were simply plump mannequins
Specifically tailor made caricatures for the bench
Jimmit's eyes had no hope, he had given up since the last millenia.
But Wilworth's eyes were quietly confident
Their stomachs touched and filled the remaining space between them
As if eating and fattening had allowed them to fit together
Jimmit lay his head on Wilworth's bossom
He attempted to sleep
But those eyes were still open and told the world it was hopeless.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário