I always thought the moon as the loneliest creation ever. The moon and the G minor chord. Or A minor.
Or it could be a grubby kitten by the sidewalk. Or it's mother.
Or maybe it's Kassim Selamat playing his saxophone. Or Bob Dylan just by himself, scratching his head, mumbling.
Or it could be a person sitting at a bus stop. Not waiting for the bus.
Communists. Painters. Jim Morrison.
A bird on a wire. Two birds on a wire. Three birds on a wire. Big fire. Little fire.
Penguins! They never look happy. Unless, you know ... they tap dance.
Spanish guitar players. Spanish guitars.
Seasoned Aston Martin by an old workshop.
Secondhand books.
Or maybe it's a car. Parked by the parking lot. By a window.
Maybe it's my dinner.
Now I'm hungry.
