I don't have ten single solitary monetary units to my name. I could've bought a whole meal, but no, I find the cheapest bottle of wine and a loaf of bread, and thence (I love old fashioned words) position myself overlooking a countryside consisting entirely of dirt, stones and grapevines. I begin writing a letter to my parents.
\n\tDear Mum and Dad. The clouds here are amazing.
\n\tMeanwhile, an inchworm – black and white stripes between burnt orange globes – humps his way across my loaf of bread.
\n\tMum. I am living on stolen tomatoes. I wish I had a 50cc Honda step-through motorcycle.
\n\tDad. The clouds here are ranged in long black lines in an obvious attempt to scare me.
\n\tBut I am not afraid. I will walk under one to see what happens.
\n\tWhile walking through the withering grapevines (I take the bottle with me but I don't tell my Dad that) the sun, now confounded, sends down rays slanting here and there in an upside down crown so picturesque I expect God Himself to appear at any moment.
\n\tI scream "God is here!!"<\/p>\n
But nature doesn't listen to a drunk.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I don't have ten single solitary monetary units to my name. I could've bought a whole meal, but no, I find the cheapest bottle of wine and a loaf of bread, and thence (I love old fashioned words) position myself overlooking a countryside consisting entirely … Continue reading