Saturday, 16 May 2009

If I lived here

I would be a writer. I would not think about eating nor drinking. I would keep eating and drinking but not think about it and when it comes to lunch I'd put everything in big colour plates. Or I wouldn't have plates who knows.

(They lived under roofs they were cold in winter and hot in summer. They starved and ate oranges and wrote letters to short-haired girls.)