His glabella furrowed in the rain. He stood there waiting after it had stopped, the petrichor causing his columella nasi to twitch. The humidity in the air formed dew drops at the tips of his frayed aglets. Inside the bar, he saw the barms on the beer glasses at the bar slowly fizzle away as he waited with wambles in his stomach sounding like a vagitus. The box tent from a pizza box floated away in the water perilously close to his minimus. Tinnitus ears blasted as if the sounds came from tines of the forks inside were singing vocables. A couple in their thirties smiled as their agraffe popped into the air, the sound causing an interrobang from the remaining patrons. All he cared about was overmorrow, but tonight, he waited his torn armscye dripping away in the rain. They signed their griffonage, dotted their tittle on the receipt and walked away hardly noticing his crapulent personage hovering by the vent. He loved her to the point, where the image of her in the pink lehngha brought phosphenes to his eyes. Tomorrow, he would not suffer from dysania, for he would not sleep till he made his last sale, to sell his soul for her, for her happiness while his own suffocated like a foot in a brannock device tightening its unyielding grip. She never knew and thats how the story ended forever.
Oh yeah, do check out the website in the photo, great place to buy authentic Indian clothing.
Have a good evening 🙂