and then this one

this one
this one speaks so.
huddled in Cervantes in between cups'o'coffee-from-dunkin' and walks on cobblestoned downtown mouthing the words along with the music trying not to cheat or leila would notice (not you madame chloe) checking for the match in a crappy internet place with a crappy connection, heart hammering, for more reasons than one; the crispy air of a beirut winter night with the smell of turkish cafe najjar coffee floating and a Paul's eclair au chocolat being scrunched noisily and messily in my mouth