Mirror
By UTTubby
His knees are narrow from scuffing the pavement as he's sniffed filth. His weary eyes peeked through the threads of his hair as morning wore on. His last cigarette settled between his wrinkled fingers. The sunlight played its sweaty song on his brow. Then, he danced while the steam surrounded his silhouette. Horns honked and whistles blew through his simple thoughts and he sighed. He counted the years on his fingers while mumbling nothing. His world became a dream and his dream became my reflections, but at least he's got friends. Written December 5th, 2001 © on Dec 05 2001 07:45 AM PST 0 • 10
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"His knees are narrow..."