Playing the chords.

*| One fine day, I spent nine hours getting my bike serviced and it felt like she was nineteen again. Smoother than a hot knife through random bullcrap. That day was incidentally Chemistry exam day when I just decided to let sixty off hundred-percent go as I had to get out of the exam hall and get Mosey ready. And today, people loved the phone, mes was one of many.

*| Two crazy freaks – praying – played music from their three inch Enfield exhausts. And it beat Symphony number five in C minor AND Simon Posford. Sameer and I.

*| Three friends had Limca shots (thirty mL of Limca and one-fourth teaspoon of salt in a steel glass. And DO NOT have more than three) on a cold-ish winter night and realized how dhabas were the twentyfourseven of rural India. Sameer, Manu and I.

*| Four pigeons slept on a ledge in ‘RBP’ and I came up with both – an intrepreneural idea and the phrase “to lick the duck’s ass”. Unsurprisingly, they sucked.

*| Five eenglish-men rose in nineteen sixty eight and created music that beats Shpongle in two thousand seven. Floyd – Barrett’s heart was it’s soul, always.

*| Six, the world is so screwed. What with Bush and Musharraf as “leaders”. My ass.

seven eightnineteneleventwelvthirteefourfiffsixsev…

Distracted, dazed and confused. Really.

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~ by Shashank Kumar on November 3, 2007.

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