C7 5

I fetch walking on the same lane of pedestrians.

My eyes spark in a worried tonic manner. I continue breathless to amble somehow limped.

Towards cars sending fumes onto plain Ozon, I, determined, pop on a scaled ladder. I wait there rubbing my crossed feet. Ashamed I put on the rest of exhibited hair on a topknot.

I scratch the top of the head, miserably brooding.

I show to light my phone