Waiting for a laminator to cure my work I sit and think how I have got a chance at doing what I love.
People pass me dressed for work opening bags to get money for coffee and I don’t want a coffee again.
An attractive girl with a fat bum and cycling lycra old men are all awake, though how I wish I was asleep.
I can hear the birds cry out and fat bum girl is leaving the dry cleaners, cars rush past and I still wait.
A jogger, a woman and Mr rock n roll in black are on this street this day, a woman far ahead with her fluffy white dog comes my way.
I have a pimple on my forehead opposite my scar, I just watched a very good reverse from a red headed lady.
Everyone has paper cups of coffee. Buses are making money just from their advertising all over them.
I’m selling my guitar for far cheaper than I bought it but I can use the money to paint and have an exhibition.
I want to do more to learn. Art is a soul seeking adventure. Paint is like blood, it’s thick and real.
5 mins to go. And I can spend some cash that I don’t have. I’m almost hungry as well.