Blanco y fucsia
I get home late from my underpaid job. I open the fridge and remember that I didn't have the time to cook for today or buy any groceries. It's the end of the month and I can't afford eating out. I lustily scan my flat mates' shelves, but there's nothing I can steal without it being too noticeable. I end up boiling some pasta, pour some pesto sauce on top of it, and take the plate to my room. Filled with posters, pictures, and drawings, my wall becomes a window. I close my eyes, I'm not there anymore -I'm in a different time, somewhe-re not here.
