ph: devina
I smoked until the morning sun painted a red line across the horizon, its rise slowly completing the shades of warm colors. Morning was approaching its peak, and in the morning the Avenue had lost its spell. Some tourists were seen coming to the place. Starbucks was opening, I could see the morning-shift staffs rushing in, preparing things. I was still sitting on the wooden ground of the veranda, smoking one cigarette after another. I still had on the heavy leather jacket, broken-pink bodysuit, and old combat boots from last night. I woke up with my hair messed up. I was looking at the sun. The night scenery of the harbor had been crushed under a harsh blow of reality. The dark stage had been bathed in light and people were coming in, filling the theater. The strange flow of time had returned to its forward-moving, fast-paced states.
