gives me this dirty water is not the beer I ordered but not matter too much. In these circumstances I prefer to concentrate on the stabs that Winton Kelly and Lee Morgan are launching the wind in search of better phrase as I wonder at what stage I feel like now. Ah, yes, I remember ... Hassan's dream and all that stupid story of cats meowing in the morning to the smell of rotting fish old prostitutes and pimps who limp without a wide-brimmed hat sad that these heads be broken from time thinking about anything. So leaving the lungs in this improvised solo which is nothing more than dirty bop on a napkin stained with mucus and reeking of alcohol cold war. I need another bottle. At this rate I will hang on the ledge of the roof of a typical Sunday. Because today is Sunday, yes, and Paul Chambers should not fondle these strings tried to become even more crazier than I already am. I feel an uncontrollable urge to hit someone with this rusty trumpet his claims rest on worn leather case but better ask the waiter for another beer. I have wet pants and not know why. To see if this time wisely to take the glass to his mouth.
MADelgado
0 comments:
Post a Comment