Beginnings and middles, I wallow in. Not so much, ends.
Flashes of clear skies, crooked eyebrows, and conversation fight for space with acquiescence. It's noisy. And I’ve never liked crowds. Especially ones where I’m jostled out of happy balance. Makes me unsure of which nearby walker I should grab onto to stay on my feet.
Left to me, I'd embalm continuities. And sack (also sock) the ones who draw thick drapes on sunshine. Haven't they heard of ventilation?
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