At the grassy-green park and by the fountain, there was the kissing statue, leaning forward with eye
At the grassy-green park and by the fountain, there was the kissing statue, leaning forward with eyes closed lips extended, a statue built for real people to kiss, right there on the cobblestone, possessed of its own sanitizing wipe dispenser, a statue that had locked many lips without knowing love, which it got sick of, one day, and which roused it to leave its plaque and pedestal and stroll uptown. So here’s the kissing statue doodling through the steel-and-glass jungle, not so much anymore the concrete jungle that statues prefer, and the kissing statue is bummed out, so it ducks into a bookshop to look at old paperbacks and, across the bin, it spots another statue, young and handsome, definitely not a year over 70, and the two statues end up exchanging phone numbers, having coffee and talking that week, going together to a movie the next week, and, who knows, maybe later a theme park date? Still Eating Oranges -- source link
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