Before summer comes, a day for hanging out futons in the sun, sweating. Or, before summer comes, a day for hanging out futons in the sun, working so hard.
On waiting for the tram, a man sitting next to, to cause my hey fever.
To sprain my, like abyss for me, a station platform there.
A crab if I were, for a doe of red-haired, to shave her face.
At his socks, to find in different colours, an orphan scoffs.