Where we pretend that the chutney is spicy, making ooo aaa noises to keep the hosts happy

Like you have never done that.

I think time has a way of decreasing your affinity towards charades. Perhaps you realise that time is finite, and there is little point in wasting it on falsehoods. Or maybe your brain simply slows down, preventing you from putting up the show. Holding you down, making you struggle to be the person that everyone wants you to be.

Or maybe this is what they mean by the wisdom that only comes with time. Tinged with a bit of sadness because you know you could have done so much had you known then what you know now. Or may be the sadness is because you know that even if you knew, you wouldn’t have done anything differently.

The inevitability of decline.

Y so sad kro? Think happy thoughts.

Okay then.

.

I have this sneaky suspicion that ponies have a crack addiction. There is just something about their eyes and the way they keep shaking their heads. Making that neigh neigh noise except the pitch is way higher than it ought to be.

Mules I am not so sure. I think mules are just like “fuck this shit, and put that shit on my back till I die” types. They are like those old aunts in the simpsons. Without the chain smoking of course.

Must be pretty bloody difficult to chain smoke with them hooves and all that. Close near impossible I reckon.

Reckon?

What the fuck?

That is one word I am quite sure I will never ever ever be able to use in a casual conversation. Just cannot see that happening.

Ever. Like ever ever.

.

Anyway, where were we? Yes, on mules. And charades. And windows that are so dusty that they barely let any light through.

That sounds quite poetic kro.

You reckon?

.

Ta-da

 

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