Gucci or LV. Chanel. All Italian girls exhibit. Men equally it seems. And talk all talk. What are their conversations so animated towards. Pyrotechnic show of hands and body posture. Smoke on and on some of the most attractive women. On scooters? So many scooters not many vespas. Hardly a smile. But a slight upturned glance. Same wondering Afro selling what no one needs or wants. All day.
A trio playing accordions and battered trumpet. Wonders of the Via Del Ponte. Some patrons dance but have forgotten to pay the tune and now it recedes. Do they smile for strangers? Pretentious it might be but the bar is good. Guys who work it friendly and show respect to my lack of application speaking fruili. The municipal square has a fountain lacking water. It’s lacking a fundamental element in it’s design. I am tensed to ask acqua? Where is it, before being chased to the sea and lost to giant octopi. There is a natural pennilessness to the square. The grandest facade is very skin deep. Or surprised me that it doesn’t fall over on the wind. Likened to the false town built in blazing saddles. Ironically if it did I am stood just right to enter the second floor window unblemished. Ha ha. I cry that this is just so.
Why is there no water. Did they forget where the tap is put. All the statues now wait. A camper stance one could not pose to point in jest like a teapot. Here’s my spout. See that flag it hangs lipid in the gentle breeze @ 10:05. PM. Post mortem. I’ve gone to examine watery grave and find man at work: not with chisel but a silicon chip. So I sit and see all the girls in Ramone t-shirts and all star lows. Ubik as dolphins dressed like fish supporting cistern. What is the cause of so many stereotypes quoth the angel falling onto the rubble with misplaced steps. It is our continued fall from grace I replied. Are any here who choose or have no other loci due to age and musical persuasion. They will replace the cracked vases just left for here. 5 or 6 years of speeding freaks. And then – bang – no further rope to hang upon. Air guitar will become hands that murdered time when once we were just as happy to exist as separate longing folk. All we want now is to have and be seen the same while the smoke in our lungs is the same stuff all our precedence died while choking and drowning and spluttering. Now I plod and hopefully mow through a torrent of vainly built and seldom having a foundation and I ask how did the great Roman empire become so pointless and dull. Pinko bag is worn on kneck and capitalism is firmly in our homes.


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