How Time Flies
Looking out my window I can see the young daughter of a close-by neighbour. She must be what now – nine, ten? I’ve lived here four years and I’ve seen her grow from cute kid to the cusp of teenage-hood. In two years she’ll have breasts and be beset by that monthly thing that all women must go through; that process that makes the birth of the likes of me possible. In two years I’d have been living here for six; in the same small, cold flat with the single window glazing that won’t keep out the winter cold and the small kitchen where I can barely do a pirouette; besides, where will I store my growing pile of books?
I gotta do something about this. For as time waits for no one, it’s clear the time to grab the bull by the balls is now.