He seems dark, eyes sweet like cyanide candy canes. He leans to sit and stares at her dress, it looks like dirty lemonade. The sun is white; and they sit and wait for the parade on a coarse black curb that smells of fate. They sat for one hundred years and a day. They sat and watched their days away, just thinking… about the shadow sitting next to them, but not speaking. Away… goes the hot white sun, it’s a winter day and they’re thinking, like their silent breathes that play. Forever waiting for the parade and just thinking.