Being a thoughtful account of the human condition as told from the perspective of one suffering from it.
What, if anything at all—though it's not perfect by any means, which in a way proves there's something wrong with it—though you have to take into account my credibility, which, under the best circumstances, doesn't exist—and, if it does, it would certainly be struggling for life on a rocky shore somewhere, and I'd be forced to march along with my gun (which I had to buy specially for the occasion—in any other circumstances I would avoid such harmful devices—no matter how well-polished) and tastefully blast it away, thus ridding me of, oddly enough, the only feature that one could possibly compliment me on (I do hate compliments, you see; you can never tell if they're really being sincere or not); so, in essence, I'm left as a free citizen, with no encroachments on my personal space (everyone usually crosses to the other side of the road when they see me) and, even on the off-chance that I do find my way into a conversation of sorts, the person in question—enacting the other half of the exchange—would be entirely lost for words and would eventually be forced to bid adieu and run amuck with the rest of the folks—you know how it is; I'd then retire to my empty carriage and puff a few notes out of the old trumpet (C, D and E, to be precise) and lapse into beautiful obscurity, is wrong with life?
Street Address
Melbourne, Victoria
Phone Number
ESTABLISHED MELBOURNE, 2018
