A generic figure sniffs through the glittering streets exotic or alien. The plodding feet can't find a ground firm that says 'You belong here'. Then why here? The mysterious question to a Vagabond or Gypsy a Rambler he is. From the third alien wonderland mundane he hankers for the second left land alien as well--a thing in retrospect at the shoot of a popped thought soothes the open wound now. Only the fallen crisp-yellowish maple leaves seem to feel him--blown adrift and rife now.
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