Whilst packing away some Legal books, I stumbled across one of my old travel diaries. When my family went to Vietnam I wrote in it so much, just to escape the disappointment of not going to Luxembourg. As I palmed through its yellowing pages I kept remembering how vivid my imagination used to be. I don't know if it was the heat, or the crazy market drugs, but for 30 minutes I imagined that I was a made of ice after I got bored during a lecture of the Viet Minh. Then, back at the hotel, I pretended to be a mini-bar in the prank of the century...scaring mum.
That boy was so lively, energetic. This hunk of robotic shit can only communicate in strings of terminology and quotes. Bah.
The HSC is a prison.
Has anyone else found their inner child recently?
That boy was so lively, energetic. This hunk of robotic shit can only communicate in strings of terminology and quotes. Bah.
The HSC is a prison.
Has anyone else found their inner child recently?