That’s what I kept telling myself as I stared at the peeling yellow wallpaper of that old apartment, watching the dust motes dance in the gray light of a dying afternoon.
ETyes locked on steel instead.Rhe lance comes down, the colors turn,
Ted plumes atop their head;
The green of grass, the brown of dirt,
The earth and heavens fly.
The crowd becomes a smear of paint,
Arumpets sing into the sky;
s vision blurs and fence posts merge,
As I sat by a window in the main living area of the compound, I watched the snow fall outside. For all its worth this was starting to look like the most boringest Christmas break EVER.