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The ghost of bebop from 52nd Street, left footprints in the snow.
A Cab passed, in the yellowish night, a drunk volatile with a goose-step, almost gave a kick in the stars.
Slid under the door of the Three Deuces the blues.
The street was a cold mirror when it rains, now remember a mantle of ermine the lap of Lady Day.
2008
João Tomaz Parreira
| Submitted Date |
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Saturday, October 04, 2008 |
| Submitted Date |
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Saturday, October 04, 2008 |
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