vaguely aware of a distant waving traversing the lines of the crazy paving criss cross the cross in the archaic figure it takes seven years bad luck to look in the mirror flash back to bring back far flung dull recollection kissing the book in a display of affection curse under your breath with a mesmeric shiver it takes seven years bad luck just to look in the mirror scratch at veneer worn and polished carve more lines and then refuse to acknowledge praise up your figure the indian giver it takes seven years bad luck just to look in the mirror