Kick kick kick

I sometimes dream of a really big painting that is finished except for the lower left corner. And now figure I am jogging down the street (it‘s totally fine to do your monthly four-mile run along the widest pedestrian-friendly side-walk you can find, don‘t let pedantic freaks tell you over what you should be tripping twice a minute, to kick pills three days later to not ease the pain in your joint but rather the headache you got from listening to stupid-ass advice from street heaters - correct, basic physics dictates that the human body can radiate heat, meaning anyone around you is emitting a bunch of heat at you, some do it less / some do it more (see the Stefan-Boltzmann law), it really depends what you are trying to get out of it, especially with the „time is running out“ euphemism infecting the globe as if MY time is running anywhere, I am right here and everything is great; and no, its not unhealthy to run on asphalt: 99% of people on this planet have not jogged in their life in forever, running on clean asphalt puts them less at risk for injury compared to running on dirt) with your best friend and all you want to do is yap and yap and yap but then across the other side of the street there‘s an enormous palace with a navy-blueish roof - however sensational the estate’s ceiling‘s emitted stripes of color were - in turquoise and shimmering light blue, with darker shades interspersed by white tiny patches - I can‘t shake the lower left corner off, unfinished. The whole painting had the size of a movie cinema screen and was mounted onto each end of the estate‘s gothic fence gates. I slowed down, made a quick peek on each side of the street, crossed it, approaching the sidewalk leading up to the unfinished painting. The texture looked like it was made with oil and depicted a stronghold/fortress, exhuming a stark contrast of grey to black, a massive brick wall following along and far into the horizon landscape, and two medium-sized watch towers placed oblique to each other in the center. The front tower was surrounded by three large, dark birds, and the brownish teint of the smaller houses and the polluted air reflecting the sun of the brick walls imparted heat across the whole city province. The lower left corner was a rectangle-shaped space that had no paint on, only a few, barely noticable pencil sketches of two people falling into each others arm.