The dawn smells of roses and unfulfilled desires. Distant treetops bath in an orange glow; they are waving witnesses along the streets of joy and sorrow. Long shades gently hug whoever they follow, sitting as guardian angels on their shoulders. The city sheds it nightly skin, shiny skyscrapers stretch themselves awake. Morning rituals go unnoticed. An ugly cup of coffee, a hint of cigarette, a cheerful voice on the radio. It’s never silent, though nothing much is ever said that really matters. Behind each four walls is another truth.
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