Another writing exercise. Very short this time. I'm highly uninspired, still very much in the mood previously explained. Alas, what better way to push through?




Picture snatched from rebekahw-photography on deviantART.

(Picked more for the red hair than anything else, I'll admit. Red hair that's not mine makes me smile.)

So many questions these people ask--"What sort of belt is that?", "What on Earth have you done to that hat?", "What strange eye-wear. . . " I wonder if they even care for answers, or just enjoy the practice of muttering these thoughts to themselves.

They dress so plainly, so uninspired. I wonder, can they see what I see?

How can they express anything in such tight lines?

"What odd glasses, I wonder how they work."

Would you be amazed if they didn't? My watches are all in time, no matter where hidden, but perhaps these were simply alluring. They certainly fit the belt. Would that inspire scorn?

This milling crowd, no even entertained, saddens me.

I assure you, there is no need to tell me how badly it lacks all that is good in writing.