a mass of people gathered on a rooftop.
they sit or stand in groups of four or five, boys and girls of young age.
there are little white lights all around the railings of the terrace.
there are mats on the floor and in one corner there is a "khatia" woven with silver colored rope. two boys are sitting on it, they are both wearing white.
at one corner behind the entrance to the terrace there are a lot of people huddled together.
they talk, shout ,and laugh at their own jokes and talk about everything but nothing specific at all.
three boys are running after the dog.
they are driving the dog crazy.
after some time they give up on the dog and start running after each other, tripping over their long pants and untied shoe-laces, stumbling, falling to the floor one atop another and rolling around, and all the while, laughing like maniacs.
there is music playing on a stereo but it keeps getting stuck and every now and then some one hits the stereo to stop it from getting stuck and playing the same Led Zeppelin track over and over again..
People come and go.
But they do not talk of Michaelangelo.
Over here, no-one is a Prufrock (they are)
Actually, nobody cares.
One girl, stands by the table, clutching a handbag under her arm as if it was her security.
she is a little taken aback by everything that happens around her.
and nobody really pays any attention to her.
A mother, a middle-aged man appear.
There is a flurry of movements.
They look around.
They frown.
They leave.
Most of them don't care.
I care.
Im a little scared.
But I wont be blamed.
And i'm with friends who make me happy.
She's with me, and she's with me and she's there too and he's there, he's there as well and there...he's there, and him as well and her.
So all is good.
there was a bike downstairs.
Comet.
very good bike.
[grins]
they sit or stand in groups of four or five, boys and girls of young age.
there are little white lights all around the railings of the terrace.
there are mats on the floor and in one corner there is a "khatia" woven with silver colored rope. two boys are sitting on it, they are both wearing white.
at one corner behind the entrance to the terrace there are a lot of people huddled together.
they talk, shout ,and laugh at their own jokes and talk about everything but nothing specific at all.
three boys are running after the dog.
they are driving the dog crazy.
after some time they give up on the dog and start running after each other, tripping over their long pants and untied shoe-laces, stumbling, falling to the floor one atop another and rolling around, and all the while, laughing like maniacs.
there is music playing on a stereo but it keeps getting stuck and every now and then some one hits the stereo to stop it from getting stuck and playing the same Led Zeppelin track over and over again..
People come and go.
But they do not talk of Michaelangelo.
Over here, no-one is a Prufrock (they are)
Actually, nobody cares.
One girl, stands by the table, clutching a handbag under her arm as if it was her security.
she is a little taken aback by everything that happens around her.
and nobody really pays any attention to her.
A mother, a middle-aged man appear.
There is a flurry of movements.
They look around.
They frown.
They leave.
Most of them don't care.
I care.
Im a little scared.
But I wont be blamed.
And i'm with friends who make me happy.
She's with me, and she's with me and she's there too and he's there, he's there as well and there...he's there, and him as well and her.
So all is good.
there was a bike downstairs.
Comet.
very good bike.
[grins]
