Lite skåpmat som blivit kvar från sommarkursen, som aldrig blev mer än lite klotter på papper. Lika bra att slänga ut det här innan det börjar lukta. Har separerat texterna så man kan se vad som hör samman.


She spent so much time in her youth being everything men crave for. At least, that one craving they feel any lonely Saturday night with a few beers running through their system. When nature took its course it left her confused and alone. Asking herself why no one had told her it wasn´t going to last. Now she roams the bars. She hugs the pole in the cheap low life discos and spends her nights with outdated men in motels with neon signs. Trying to take back the life that left her standing on the island. Had she know she might had developed a personality.


Overfed and under stimulated. That´s how Id describe anyone these days.


Frank Black once sang "There is a place". I guess he's right, but I can´t know for sure.


She was living proof anyone could make it in the world without any decent education and total lack of talent. You would only have to sell yourself. And for the right amount of money and the right reasons, you could make it.


Your kid is not special.


All of the things I´ve done, there is only one thing I truly regret.


It may sound stupid. But that´s the way I feel about it. And there´s no other way to say it.


There was some Caligula insanity about him.

His beard looked like evolution going the wrong way.

Writing out words on the shells and piling them all together in a bowl. Stas holding an egg for all to see and read out loud, "Career".

Reading out loud, "A career in law."

He´d read out, "True love."

After each egg he´d read, one of us would walk up to him and grab the egg.

He´d read out, "Fame and fortune."

Then, placing themselves in front of the red brick wall tanned green from graffiti and the words, "Eat me"

Stas would read out, "Publishing a book."

That was mine.

I stepped out of the circle and got the egg, now smudged with writings since watercolor is only so good to write with. I held it out high in the air and threw it at the wall.

After all this, I'd go home and watch some television.

Left behind in that dumpster part of town, in that alley, is a puke of shells busted open. A white and yellow waste drying in the sun. Along with all our broken dreams.

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