The city we two walked hiding our faces with pink plastic umbrella

Just not to wet your shoulder...

You are still a little bit warm and sitting in that chair

I do want to touch but I also want to cry

A half-drunk milk is showing the table somewhat lonely

I'm loving you as much as the numbers of the cigarette stub i have smoked

Under the streer lamp of an electric light pole

Let us go and pick up the unbrella dripping-wet which we have left

depressed man talking to himself
to the depressed sky
of the depressed days