With palms salty with sweat, they walked hand-in-hand in a park full of people with mouths full of empty words. And then like the fate of two freshly stubbed cigarettes, afire and affright, they lay in bed, turned heads; she could never make peace with the stench of whiskey on his breath.
There are various forms of art. But basically they all are same, with the motive of creating wonderful inceptions in dreams and bring them into reality. :)
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