Have you ever imagined that one day the voices inside your head were fighting, your imaginary friend was running with a scissor in its hand, and at one point one of your personalities wandered off for the reason that somehow you had just proposed to...
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After setting the radio volume lower than the level of the birds chirping from one place to another, I chancily tossed it aside more than what I had knowingly underwired—angling it offhandedly. It was an outdated rectangle of some cheap chrome even with instrumenting the fluffiest gay nineties pop song into the quiet suburban locality. On the line it is! At this time of the day, there was wee white noise for it to play with—just soundly candid snickering laughs that parroted. There was something about the slight crackle of the music that made my Sunday assortment sort-of a throwback, seeing that I was seated warmly on the side of the porch of this large archaic Hanok (Traditional) house.
