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The Friend

Were these on e poet's words,

"Life is short stories that become on e long story."

After finishing up the five months of long vacation,

the last year at college is now waiting for me.

But where is my friend who is suposed to pick me up

I am waiting for him.

Thought he was going to be at the gate

that's why I smuggled myself behind a big fat white lady

I thought, like the last time, standing at the corner

without calling me, he was going to wait with quiet smile

Gee, he must hide real good, can't find him.

Walking downstairs

I come down here at the baggage claim

Damn, I can't find him, must hide real good.

Waiting for my luggage,

I often turn my head to back real fast.

I on ly see those freacked out bimbo's eyes thinking I am crazy

I can't help fretful feeling

that he is going to surprise me from the back.

This time, I on ly see closed-enough eyes of old

grandma thinking I have Tourett's Syndrome

Gosh, I can't find him, must hide real good.

Conveyer keeps spinning,

luggages lost grip-grabbers

enjoying free ride.

making a big circle as they spin,

little pieces of metal of conveyer

remind me of the poet's words but

really where is he, can't find him.

Waiting for the friend, don't know how long it will be

But, how can it be compared with the five month of vacation

Gee, I miss him, rather ask him reason for late later.

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