The writer is now at a faraway remote place called cafeteria A. To make it brief, it is the furthest cafe from his block of residence, and, it conveniently is the cafe which has the lowest concentration of androgen here.
For some intriguing reason, the writer has wandered into this wilderness which is filled with trees which are round-headed. (hopefully the readers know what exactly the writer means)
Maybe he is hoping to find something here.
Maybe he is hoping to find someone here.
No one knows what in the world is the writer searching for.
Maybe he is searching for tranquility?
Maybe he is searching for peace?
Maybe...
Maybe...
Maybe...
The writer is just ordering a burger to fill his growling stomach.
P/s: One really wonders why in the world the writer has so much free time when he has a bio paper tomorrow and tonnes of unrevised books.
Maybe he is just too bored.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment