It was Left Out-of-Mind on the Side-Streets
There was a fine mist that evening, though there was an anomalistic sense about the intersection of Mclaura Place and Kepler Avenue. As typical as it was for the clouds to visit the land, there were never visitors in the dawn of the Providence roads. The passerbyers filled the streets with a sense of trepidation, walking swiftly, full of worry, they spoke hushed words of fright:
“Halhavalhe yakou Afaonamed tache Lakocam?” said a woman that wore a mask of forced confidence. She spoke in
“When counterfeit conmeister mister?” a knobbly kneed man fashioned in what had to be a women’s skirt.
