020 ❁
The men in the suits - I have been told they are red, though what would I know of red beyond an ever increasingly distant memory of poppies and their image on the BBC, live from the Millenium Bridge this fine Remembrance Day - on nearly every street corner with their pesky bells offend me.
I stood, I do admit I stared, but am I not allowed to look at what I wish?
"Hello, sonny," the bearded elderly man said with the audacity of joviality when I cannot feel my nose and am drowning in bells, and he laughed, "I dare say" (can you hear his emphasis? I, I, I.) "that you just might make a great Santa when your hair goes white!"
Well, I never. You may keep your white hair and your jingle jangle bells to yourself, sir. I will have no part in my own headache. And of course, Khaos does not wish to help. Spiteful bitty.
I stood, I do admit I stared, but am I not allowed to look at what I wish?
"Hello, sonny," the bearded elderly man said with the audacity of joviality when I cannot feel my nose and am drowning in bells, and he laughed, "I dare say" (can you hear his emphasis? I, I, I.) "that you just might make a great Santa when your hair goes white!"
Well, I never. You may keep your white hair and your jingle jangle bells to yourself, sir. I will have no part in my own headache. And of course, Khaos does not wish to help. Spiteful bitty.