The lips that sweat, so cute, with nose above tilting like a small bridge, were above eyes like burning coal. Wet t shirts on the cobblestone, confused looks at clock towers going wild, my shoe laces untying by themself, a women in orange groping herself, the stroll ended with an apple tree and the eating of an orange as she turned mostly orange in her fake tan, I was almost fooled, and so was Chesty Chad, now a sailor who played with his hair inside a mirror, and always eats from a can.