Sunday, June 24, 2007 .

The curious incident of the old house-yard-swimming pool-thing started with a less than meaningful conversation in an oddly 80's room. Clement, the ego-centric, once again as the protagonist, has gotten his new shoes stolen by a scissors weilding, pin pricking son of a bitch. The two start negotiating the price of the shoes and all that jazz only to realise later that the shoes werent stolen after all.

The Yard. There's a hole in the groud, kinda like those holes left behind when a tree is uprooted. Grass, like time, grows over and covers it up but a distinct depression is still visibly present. The hole is knee deep and not only covered in grass but also water-logged. The water is clear at times but really, usually murky. Grandpa, a name given to an elderly man who has is as unfamiliar as Paris is to the right way to serve a jail sentence (which is debatable since she's finally learning it), and has no blood relation decides to check out the ditch despite the-little-girl-next-to-me's warnings. It doesn't take long for her to find that he isn't checking out the depth of the hole but rather trying to get close enough to splash muddy water at us. Like...eww. That bastard man, I was wearing my favourite polo-tee.

I find myself in a shower room by an old pool. Training's over, i jump into the first shower cubicle i can find, only to discover that all the cubicles are made of glass. And it's a co-ed bathroom. It's a pity i was the only one showering because i had this uber intricate, ala Michael Scofield, tattoo on my back and had no one to show it off to. Talk about mega-sian.

And then i wake up with a backache and sun in my eye.

screaming infidelity at 12:48 PM
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