Drunken Gazal

Listening drunkenly to the lazed gazal tune, he turns a blind eye to the direct sun in his eyes. Even the fly perched majestically on the silk of his nodding tie could not get on his nerves. Sighing contentedly, he feels vibrated at harmony with the hum of the sensual female voice, and lets his hands float on the wafting wind.

When I am like this, he exclaims to himself, I feel as impulsive as a dog.

As if to prove himself, he suddenly breaks his momentum and sits down cross-legged in the middle of the road, his earphone still filled with sultry croonings. Not even to the whooshing truckload of policemen (that leaves his shirt and tie flapping crazily) does he decide to bother.

Gently, he realizes that he does not feel any necessity to reach his office today.