Through a window, a phone booth and a stranger, in dark glasses and a blue jean suit.

A railroad not far from here and you can feel the ground stutter and shake softly whenever the train races on past…

As the stranger stands in front of an old phone booth, in old New York City…

Where the ghosts from the days of flappers and rebellion once roamed the streets…

She is standing and feeling the legends from the past as they dance and drink, running unaware, towards the depression waiting for them on the other side of paradise.
Through a window, a phone booth with no phone, a decade with no reason and paradise lost.

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