Magical Tipsy Toes

I am in a room. A small room. The air-con is too cold. The sounds of beating drums get louder and louder by the minute. I hear screams. Yelps of sorts.

I am in a room. A small room. I see a green bean bag in front of the door. I want to go lay on it. But the beans in the bean bag don’t look too friendly.

I am in a room. A cubicle sort of room with survivor music making the nerves go into a “kung fu” mood.

I am in a room. I spilt chilli sauce on the floor. I hope nobody finds out.

I am in a room. I need to be on the look out. I see them coming. I know they are coming. I need to get my weapons ready and sharpened.

I am in a room. I need a smoke, but the pieces of food in a box taste heavenly.

I am in a room. I almost Crashed, with Me, Myself and I. Who knew that The Number 23 would have sold me out. Dupree never came back, instead I see Cinderella.

I am in a room. A small room. Computer games, DVDs, X-Box, one lonesome bean bag, two chairs.

I am in a room. And I’m having a heck of time.

I am in a room. And its ok because I don’t want to be anywhere else but with my favourite people.