evening falls, the daily downpour begins
as meetings go on, we hear clapping sounds, and people rush around carrying papers, radios, mobiles, cigarettes. everybody smokes, runs, smiles crazy stressed out reassuring smiles.
and through it all, the sound begins. creak creak creak. it sounds like swings at a children's playground, creaking in the wind, as they sway, childless and abandoned. but i don't think it is. there are no swings. it must be some bird, that at night, wants to remind us all that once we were children, and the things we do are not so serious or important as our adult, grown old heads would have us believe
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