Sheets of snow came down, covering the dull streets like a thin blanket in a night of cold biting air. The sky had only just turned to the light of the morning, the moon had slowly faded and the sunlight was barely touching the ground like a feather. The lonely musician leaving his morose footprints behind him was following a path of dread and disappointment. His head turned firmly to the snowy floor oblivious to passers by. The lampposts , bus stops and trees all seemed to stand at apposed angles as if they had been punched out of their senses on rums, cigarettes and chaotic unmelodic jazz music. Looks of disappointment and half empty bars reflected through time in the deserted cold streets of the town where busses never came and names all blurred through years in the tingling numb and hungover skulls of all the people who were doubting the tones of his strumming… 


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