Whipped cream clouds rain down from high, through velvet winds in vanilla sky, through crimson dawn and orange dusk, the mind wanders for the soul to lusk. Perfumed smiles beneath street lamps. fairgrounds full of kids and tramps, the lights and sounds engulf and daze as feet tumble through the human haze. The air is thick with bells that peal, devotees throng the streets in zeal, midst electric warmth and incensed breeze the cutpurse operates with fluent ease. The lucent faces come and go, some from slums, some homes highbrow. life saunters home, those faces yawn as radiant night gives way to dawn.
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