yest...

yesterday, was another day. he sat with four french ladies; all with different hair colours, but the same taste for men. chocolate fondue with copious amount of strawberries were complimented by glasses intended for children's use. their russian friend hid in the small box by an ashtray. he alone caused two to leave early, and the others remained to have his scent evaporate from their throats. french separatism and jurisprudence hang at the edges of their mouths. and at the edge of his, despair. walking by the café he notices two french foreign exchange students. what followed was a whole rest. he can only describe time by the music he once played. they would never find him in his room daydreaming. he dreams because he knows it won't materialize.