Right to the marathon, left to the bar.

Right to the marathon, left to the bar.

I did move recently to a nice flat in the center of a fancy town. The neighbourhood sounded pretty honest at the very beginning. Some students downstairs kept on playing 1970s music, the eighty-nine years old next door lady did mostly eat take away. A 50ish years old concierge has a black humour with a southern accent. Two lifts bring me up and down few times a day, the clumsy stairs had a lack of proper light.
Right to the morning I dream strange episodes of none ever awaiking man, then I keep on sleeping. A park on the right hand side of the building is on works, someone found under the ground some old church, we pray now for having some grass back. I used to go running right at the early day, abusing of friendly marathons eventually, now I go late left to the bar.