the Lie About

I'm a happy-go-lucky type-a-guy, laidback and carefree, a no-plan no-worry chancer. Usually. I wile my way through the days, busking in the sunshine and dusking through the evensong. Usually. Lately though I have felt the dark tendrils of worry start to creep insidiously over me, disecting and infecting my soul with long inky fingers. I have nothing, I am 24 years old and have nothing- no car, no house, no wife, no kids, no five-year plan, no three-step loan, nothing. Those two great corrupters, money and power, have left me untainted, unfettered and unpainted. Left to my own devices, sitting in my happy place, I am quite content without them, but I know that at some point soon I need to be the hunter gatherer. Or people will talk. As I consider all this on the walk home I see a puppy on a lead, pulling its owner into a grassy patch of some flats, leaping and bounding around, half swallowed by the grass. And while I watch his tail bobbing about with excitement it becomes clear to me that I wouldn't know what to do with all the shiny things. Give me a simple life, show me a stage, hand me a pen, buy me a sandwich; I'll be happy. As for tomorrow? Maybe I'll get a puppy.