Blank billboard outside the window, dull, blow. The wind blows like how I exhale a long traffic of smoke. The wind also blows through my hair. It blows through the long afternoon that's made of words and gestures. Clouded, crowded atmosphere. Change of clothes, I look at the window, force of habit I guess, came to realize how I should be careful what I wished for. What the hell.
When I grow up, I wanna be hella romantic!