novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- stamps along our inner wrists instantly fading every once in a while we are old ladies threading in and out of crowds, bumping past the quiet cliches. clutching fancy drinks (them) or whiskey (me) we have to sit down a few hours in. the boys on either side eye us like sharks. they'd circle if there was footroom, you are that pretty. i pulled your hair and we laughed. she waltzed, spilling wine on his foot. those shoes look completely uncomfortable. the doorman made small talk, i wondered what you were doing, where you were.
Asked you a question now imagine this song performed by iron and wine, sung to the filled-to-capacity and completely silent great american music hall, and you'd have our friday night. 10:45 am - 04.10.04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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