Besedila: The Fair Weathered. Westland Avenue.

A complete lack of restraint is shown in her eyes; at least she's pushing out her words, sooner than her lips prepared. The sound of her own voice is echoed through my head, so I'm making my own way. And I slept okay last night with dreams about cities at night, and the motion and the sights of streetlights that show the right way to go. They make me want to take the back roads. I straightened out all my thoughts. What once seemed illusive now shared a feeling of warmth. She read my face as if reading my mind and all I could do was catch my breath.