Ice vendor came with ice creams in his possession,
the bells rang a pale, grey tone…as if it wasn’t enough with all these meaningless opened windows around.
I could see the man with red hat through the branches of this old tree,
the old man and the old tree,
I like old times…I like folktales and wildfire legends.
A woman came with all her entities… pressing her old tits with the body of this ragged ice cart…
sunset around, crimson walls shined with the possibilities of a home coming evening…
and she was still pressing those two as the sun went past the horizons of my bad day.
I guess I have been gazing over this image for far too long…
There are better things inside,
cigarettes, drinks, women, music, bald literatures and a nostalgia; so old that it’s nostalgic itself.
I went for the drink first…the woman with expressive breasts was still there…
I believe she ate many ice creams by the time,
I believe she could have all the ice creams of this world at that virgin night with violent possibilities.

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Photograph: Google Images.

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