Where we are wolves, running through the snow packed hills with stupid smiles on our faces

And stopping every now and howling the bejesus outta everything.

A long time ago, when I had minimal shame, I would imitate a gorilla on crack when I was hungry. Belt my tummy and go “yarrrrgggggg”, swing my arms this way and just hunch all over the place. I think the parent people did consider seeking psychiatric assistance, not sure. They never tell me.

Don’t joke about that. It is not funny.


It would be fun to be a wolf though. I don’t know what kind of wolf I would be. I wonder what wolves think about vegetarians. And whether they are annoyed that their plural is wolves and not wolfs. I always found that a bit random, this whole singular plural thing. Cause in my head, its a bunch of stoned hippies deciding it all, “Okay, now one of them is wolf maaan, and like more than one is wooolvvvzz mhaan.”

It would be fuckin insane if that was true.

Tareek pe tareek. Bought me some ciabatta the other day. Cut it open and threw in some sexy sexy tamatar slices and some smoky smokey cheese. And thin thin slices of some juicy salami and a bit of bacon (just a bit) but not before slathering some cream cheese onto the sides. And then I put in some onions (nice zing) and some olives and a dash of pepper. And then I closed it, and bit it and the chewy, salty bread soaked up the tomatoes and the salami and the onions and the pepper.

Oh dear lord.

Aur kya?

There are people I know who tilt their head after asking a question. They think its cute. I feel like punching them in the neck.



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