I am tired and hungry. I want to buy an image. I approached the neon fruit supermarket and dreamed of what you listed.
What peaches! What a good penumbra! Buy it for the whole family at night! The corridor is full of husbands! My wife is in the pear! All the children are in the tomatoes! -And you, Garcia. Loka, what are you doing next to the watermelon?
I see you, Walter. Whitman, you have no children, lonely old coolie, poking your fingers at the meat in the refrigerator and glancing at the pantry, man.
I hear you asking a question: Who killed the steak? What is the price of bananas? Are you my angel?
I followed you, walking up and down the shiny can shelves, followed by my imaginary shop-hired detective.
In our lonely fantasy, we walked through the empty passage, tasted artichokes, had all the frozen delicacies, but never passed the cashier's office.
Where are we going, Walter? Whitman? It closes in an hour. Where does your beard point tonight?
I stroked your book and dreamed of our adventure in the supermarket, which was quite strange. )
Will we really wander the deserted streets? The shadows of the trees overlap, and all the lights in the room go out. We are so lonely.
Will we just wander around, dreaming of lost America, dreaming that love passes by the blue car on the road and returns to our silent cabin?
Ah, dear father, gray beard, lonely and courageous teacher, what kind of America do you have when Caron stops climbing the pole and you walk on the smoky bank and watch the ferry disappear on the black water of the forgotten river?