|
I think it's a cat, but maybe not. White tigers are getting popular. |
|
So there was this cat walking down the street ~ Eastern Europe somewhere, I think ~ a festival, parade, carnival, something ~ and I remember the house I was in, or rather the room. It was in California. Rented. Shabby. Crowded. Lonely. And most of the people there were doing drugs, drinking all hours, pissing under my window like I wasn't there. |
|
Or didn't care, which I did. It's funny how people come along. I'd seen him once. My father had just fired him, and now we were both tenants in this madhouse. "Why do you live in this dump?" he asked. "Your father's a millionaire." I was walking across the kitchen. Shocked. No he's not, he would have told me. Or maybe not. The pencils, colors, the white cat. The little dragon guy. That's what made my day less cold. |