In the rain, under the parapet of the abandoned house, ruffling your hair with your fingers to wring the water out. You make a good picture.
Sitting behind me on my bike, the left half of your face on my mirror. You make a good picture.
Bent down in a bookstore, hunting for that particular book and no other. You make a good picture.
Lying on your bed, with me beside you. We make a good picture.
