-dead end street, man.
Cool, rainy wet thinkin'
Bars and tertulia and gipsy women and red red wine
nostalgia (drunkard word)
-it's an old song of the kinks, ya know that?
-yep, -he mumbled, cigarett flashing.
(the hot smell of hash and tea and the adventure of the words unspoken...)
Maybe in Stalag 7
maybe in a 2nd flat
over the other prisioners
free men, with progeniture
rats all over the condominium
-Dead end street, yeeeaah, dead end street...