Peter chose not to walk down that lane. That perspective needed a sudden change, needed a change so that perhaps that rattan basket won't come flying into his face. He took a step forward.
How could he forget that portrait? You know how. The pupils in those eyes tucked in one corner in booze of white, having that constant stare as if ready to explode if a crumb fell from your daily bread. That weird shape of a moustache, straight as wheat, lined without attachments. You will feel the oil on the visage even just trying to avoid that murderous gaze, hot and oozing with lashing energy.
Another step forward. Peter could hear the click of his boot reverberate down the alley and bounce back like a spring. That perspective had to be changed, for if it was not, another crumb would mean an explosion, poomp! A thousand thoughts ran across his mind, but Peter knew just which ones really mattered. That blank face, that arched brows couldn't hide all he had felt (it didn't really matter, no one's even looking, how amusing). Then the sound of the boot started to zoom out, because the perspective's changed, he had to change his perspective. Soon, you could hear his smile, he couldn't hear no more.
The next morning, it was all gone. One could see the portrait slightly tilted, a slash of ruby streaked across just above the brows, how precious, how lasting.
How could he forget that portrait? You know how. The pupils in those eyes tucked in one corner in booze of white, having that constant stare as if ready to explode if a crumb fell from your daily bread. That weird shape of a moustache, straight as wheat, lined without attachments. You will feel the oil on the visage even just trying to avoid that murderous gaze, hot and oozing with lashing energy.
Another step forward. Peter could hear the click of his boot reverberate down the alley and bounce back like a spring. That perspective had to be changed, for if it was not, another crumb would mean an explosion, poomp! A thousand thoughts ran across his mind, but Peter knew just which ones really mattered. That blank face, that arched brows couldn't hide all he had felt (it didn't really matter, no one's even looking, how amusing). Then the sound of the boot started to zoom out, because the perspective's changed, he had to change his perspective. Soon, you could hear his smile, he couldn't hear no more.
The next morning, it was all gone. One could see the portrait slightly tilted, a slash of ruby streaked across just above the brows, how precious, how lasting.