The green lights of the sign of the local light blows of the marble porticoes of Via Saffi just outside of Bologna. Recall color in the beam that is reflected in mid-air dance on the tips of my boots polished. The Butterfly opens to me. Polished floor, faux crystal tables, chairs, white and blue lights dim counter. Beads, like stars, on hand-blown glass bottles arranged in order. A man in his thirties with glasses shake the grease in your hair. I look at him, smiles at me, Bloody Mary serves in a tulip glass with a blonde-haired sweaty which recently ceased to sway the giant white cube in the center of the room where two hours long legs knotted around a hard iron surrounded by support erections.
later in the process. Dirty. I hear the sound of prisoners of fleeting embraces other dimensions. Sighs, words, sounds of bodies colliding, producing warm - good for their owners - please.
Everyone here leave a mark of their passage. Men and women who come to get rid of waste in mass production. The water is a dish in which everyone takes something and leaves. The surrounding air is a container where particles are lost remain trapped in the atmosphere.
The mirror now reflects my eyes focused on shaded areas of breaths that have tarnished the surface. The acrid smell of ammonia. Urine.
The restaurant is closing, leaving also I am about leaving something. I, the last, the 'winner takes all of these lives caged in a toilet.
Muse - Starlight
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