I'm wanna jump...right out...outta my skin. As long as that song is in my head. oooooooh ooh ooooh.
Just ate my lunch for breakfast...mmm... a hunk of fresh baked bread and some cheese. Today I think I will pretend I am in France. I'll pretend that the coffee I'm drinking isn't burnt and weak. Instead it is smooth, so smooth, dark esspresso served in a tiny porcelain cup with a saucer. I'm drinking it in a cafe with open windows and waiters in shiny black shoes on the edge of the Red Light District, in the Muslim section of town. I write in my journal and a postcard to my cousin Pete... later I visit a museum. It's not the Louve, I haven't found that yet. I never did. What a pity. Instead I sat in the park and was accosted by Frenchmen till finally I decided just to leave the country, penniless. And yes, this is also a pity. It was so nice there, that is, except for the persistent Frenchmen.
Outside the birds are singing their crazy little songs while I sing mine indoors. You gotta dance when the spirit says sing. ooooh ooh ooooooh. whistle oooh whistle.
Waiting for snow in my reindeer sweater and snowflake socks. Oh yes, I remember where I am now. Burnt coffee, but blue skies. Rocks and crows.
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