the boys sit, talking and planning... little skits and rehearsals..
they bark loud, wag tails, dance the gig and hand out flyers..
We plot, plan, design.. words to be spoken..
then re-plot, re-plan, re-design, re-configure our strategy..
then we get up and dance...
our plan re-defined... we instruct each other... send each othet.. so juvenile so young so inexperienced; our approach is.. we are blind though.. read and re-write signals... yeses morph to nos... nos become common denominator...
Lights come on.. our tails wags high... we talk of could-have-beens and did-you-see... should-have-dones... and kaffir-pleases...
truth is... we are cowards, we have no bite, we hunt wind.. and have imaginary player shoes...
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