If you keep looking at the clock, he is also looking up at you. cheekily, slowly, as if being pushed, barely dragging himself. The one who bores you can only be a mirror image, or a copy. Your life is a long, long, long boredom. It's like sponge cakes: what's left is thrown away. Some people see it from behind glass, it makes someone else's stomach churn. The one who bores you can only be a mirror image, or a copy. Your life is a long, long, long boredom. The little shop of missed tomorrows is opened before midnight. Gray evenings, empty hours, many, many delicacies await you. The little shop of missed tomorrows is opened before midnight. Gray evenings, empty hours, many, many delicacies await you. The little shop of missed tomorrows is opened before midnight. Yet what would tomorrow be, if you opened the door of a different shop.
