He had a scar, that went deep. Deeper than you could imagine. But that wasnt the point. What was shown on the outside wasnt as deep as what hid in his heart like a glass chest of drawers with a slick of treaty to it. He sat there looking down at his eggs. His eyes widening at the soft mush and twinkling each time someone passed by. The thing is he was yellow and had seven feet, but that wasnt the problem. He didnt understand people werent taking notice of him though the few every once in a while hesitated glances he stole from the big fat man in his truck the police strolled the area with their guns and fancy boots high up in the air. He had a scar which im sure went deeper than a 50 year old jojoba tree’s roots dug into the ground. I. Could. see. It was pink with tints of purple but the scars underneath were like stars that perhaps guide him when all was dark. He took and learn lessons from them and thats how he got around life. Solidly and sternly he chomped on his fingers without any realisation of the reality surrounding him, unaware of the people who had two legs and three boxes and the men in overalls and the kids in nappies that hung under trees. The thing is he had a scar but it wasnt any more or less significant than the twinkle in his. Eyes. I was surprised how he got up afterwards and left his eggs, i would never leave my eggs and get up no matter the consequences. Was he sad, was he full or was he just hopeless. Taking four looks between each side of the rode he crossed it dragging his six legs behind and hopping on one. The thing is his scar wasnt that bad, it was just a scar i wanted to tell him. It. Seemed to affect everything he did. I was mad at how the others on the opposite street in their shiny black coats and trousers, black shades and handbags, looked at him in disgust, it seemed even their handbags and shades spat at him. But that isnt the thing. I wanted to run up to him pull him aside and tell him everything was going to be okay if he followed these few guidelines my old pa gave me once. The first is, dont leave food on your plate, second is, d’not care what the people say, and the women in such wear will give you such looks unless you have a pawkupine and a carrot, now dont ask me what that means he old pa mustve been not with it or mustve meant something else. Maybe a what is it called but you know what i meann. This isnt even beginning to make sense let alone end with some sense, but maybe thats the point of this exercise it should just nonsensical us and how about some coffee and cheese for brunch i might say but i dont know if there even is that available in the fridge the point is to keep typing and thats how we freestyle and thats how we eat today. Some just eat others taste.