I am walking to the station. I receive a text message on my phone and start to reply.
At the sixth letter a bird craps on my shoulder.
On the eleventh, I walk Buster Keaton-like into a lamppost.
Thankfully it is early. There is no one around. My buffonery remains a secret.
Hope you made a wish!
Posted by: Daryl Walker-Smith | Tuesday, 17 February 2009 at 11:40 AM
Yes, lots of wishes, cunningly disguised in curses.
c
Posted by: Carlton | Tuesday, 17 February 2009 at 06:30 PM