a picture

There is a man playing saxophone on the foreground. He's got deep blue eyes and tanned skin. His childish manners embrace me. He is trouble.

There are tonnes of things to pack all around. There is a bicycle. There are people whispering I am insane because I throw away pictures and tokens from the past. There is some tension in the air.

There is a jealous man spying on his partner on the background. He's learnt a secret from my private diary. He knows he shouldn't have poked his nose among her secrets, but he has. He is in trouble.