The guys who love kissing up against the gates of the night
and passing them through a finger mark .
But the guys who love there are none and it is their only shadow that trembles in the night by encouraging the anger of passers-by, their anger, their contempt, their laughter, their envy. The guys who love there are none, they are elsewhere, much of the night away, much higher than the day in the bright splendor of their first love.
(Jacques Prévert)
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