I wonder about my life sometimes. Actually I wonder about it a lot.
I find that I have a lot of time to spend my thinking on.
I wander around, not really living in one set place. Though I would like to… eventually perhaps.
I visit the shack of a kind old man the most. He lives in the ocean waters, a good distance off the coast of a clean, white beach.
He lets me eat and sleep there in exchange for a talk every now and then.
Other than that, I suppose I just wander around what lies past the beach.
Uninhabited, disgusting, dirty old buildings as far as the eye can see. Hardly anyone goes there. Well, except rats and other vermin.
I wonder if I’m like them.
… This is what I mean. I think about these things every minute of the day. I’m actually exploring right now.
I found a little gray-brown house that looks like it has the potential for me to live there. Or maybe I can just scavenge around.
So far, so good.