Architecture.

One day me and my friends were out and walked the city. We had our best dresses on, and the air was crisp. It was just about dusk and we felt like having something to eat. Like a gang of foxes we marched with the hunger in mind. In the middle of it all was the communion of our friendships. As we turned a corner, Eric yelled out: “Oh lord, what a mighty construction”.  He stretched his arm out and pointed his finger out in the air. North, I believe it was. He pointed for us to see. It was the finest example of architecture we had ever seen. We were baffled. As the impression of the bulidning sunk in, we started to dance. The motions ran through our limbs. The groove trancended through our feet. The waves evolved from her to me, then from me to him, then from him to her. Waves of understanding. The particles we consisted of vibratet. We were in the moment.

We danced for a while. Then we had to take a breath of fresh air. In the aftermath of this momentary dance, we found ourself refreshing our bodies with liquids. Small bottles of fizzing, soothing, limey drinks. Made of glass. Heavy. Robust. Pause. We sat on the stairs, thinking of what we just had done. Satisfaction came to mind. Tommy erupted the echoes of heavy breaths, saying “Hey, does anyone want to go and see the Eiffel Tower?”

It felt blue. Bright baby blue, turning slowly darker. Night had come for this day, our dance was over.

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