Regarding the art of aimlessly walking

A flâneur dreams this place, while passing by. And yet it barely touch his mind. The gallery lays in a fog, to him it's clear. And either way he doesn't care his purpose is just to be. _________________________________ The city, a playground. He watches, never joins in. All alone, but in bliss. In the city, there is nothing amiss. The corner, a friend. The street name, an ally. In the alley, he walks. While the building, to him talk.

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