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I am Evil's little trainee. In this story, we are leads. He writes the scripts, we act. he was bent on making things good. He pointed, he directed. We moved, we danced. We sang, we cried. He shared the tears and applauded. He knew the words that cut. Words that evoked feelings. He asked for more. "Paint his eyes green, his heart a little wrenched and his mind with a splash of english flaunt," he said. With his every stab, fabric to tattered rags, flesh to open wounds, hearts in two. "That is how 'everyday' is spelt," he sang. "Enjoy the ride, while I enjoy the screams," he laughed, at the press conference. Money cannot buy you sense and style. For you.
_____________________ cats, it seems, are sleek, even in retreat.Labels: woof For you.
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