Streets of the city

I brew myself a tea this morning. Then I made a nice breakfast and filled them all up. I went to the edge of the glass and I had the most beautiful view of the city. I'm gonna sip my tea slowly today, on the weekend.

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People have begun to close their doors in procedural terms and to take their own. The city's rush hours must be starting. Some sleepy, some thoughtful, with some scowling walking step by step. How the morning sounds are scratching the human ears, most enthusiastic, some hard. These are the bird chirps. They've even begun to walk from right to left in the sky. Nor are they sweet and sweet. The crows are mixed; it must be coming from the previous hard sound.

No cloud in the sky today. How nice. The sun starts roasting soon. You should enjoy it before it's too late to breed in the morning breeze. These are the best hours of summer. When noon hits the hours, scorching heat collapses on top of Istanbul.

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White, orange, giant in the ears, tiny paws, trying to pass through the wires. He throws his foot, he doesn't, he suffers. Then he puts his head down. Whatever he does, he can't leave. Must be stuck. Someone's coming to the rescue. He's saving him. How happy, how to thank the woman, if you see it become laugh.

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