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under covered areas

My left eye's corner watched as he approached.
A fanfare of scarves bursting from his coat.
Hand knitted gloves and beanie. Dragging his left leg.

I distract myself with unnecessary fingernail maintenance

"you can't smoke here" he tells me,
"you can't .. not here, no"
His concealed finger slowly traces an arc, from the ground
to me and then onwards,
to the rusty roof covering platform 3

"You... can't smoke here"
I nod, and return to my index finger,
he sits beside me, and slowly lowers his.

"no, cant smoke, not here!"

I'll keep that in mind
in case I ever start.

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This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on April 24, 2009 9:45 PM.

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