The day brought out your team colors

No goals needed to be scored

Bagging the pieces

They seem to fit but nothing matches

Margins left for spillage

We visit there less often since bark was tanned.

Crossing again without any traffic

Movement labors like a truck in Wages of Fear.

A vapor of white gas

left us a trail to follow

The gradient may be defined in some way

using the exterior derivative

Behind the screen

shadows danced on little sticks

All four caps securely tightened

You always hit the nails on their heads.

It was at the edge of the rug

All of them looking

Who we were

What was it again?