I love to read Chekhov to my cat. She blinks at me always in the most bourgeois sort of way.
My daddy is nice and soft, and my mother always harsh and unrelenting. But well, it is not the first day I have had my family rants, like Lucy ranting in a Peanuts cartoon. It is something which is part of forever.
I cannot bear to be mundane.
I want to run away to an abandoned part of the world and hide away, and have the whole world not looking for me.
My message to you in the meanwhile, Beansprouts: