Why...?
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My name is Juan Pablo Diego José Francisco de Paula Nepomuceno de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santísima Trinidad Martyr Patricio Clito Ruíz Picasso. I know quite a mouthful. George thought it was beautiful and identified me as a human being. George loved me...or so I thought.
When I came to England I was scared and afraid. I had come into the country in the engines of a ferry and somehow the immigration found out and were after me. I ran and I ran and I ran weaving through in and out of streets when I bumped into George. As soon as he looked seductively into my eyes I knew he was the one. I stumbled over my words as I was awestruck by his beauty but he didn't seem to care. I should have stopped there. I wanted to keep running but I was attracted to him like lesbians to a fish market. When I finally was able to force the words "help me" out of my mouth he roughly grabbed me and stuffed me inside his boot. I didn't care where I was going just as long as I was with him and only him. I thought of it as an unplanned adventure only it turned out to be an adventure I never wished I endeavoured on.
Hours trickled by like minutes as I was excited for what was next in my crazy life. He pulled me out and I think he sad we were in a place called Norwich. He grabbed me close to him and I held onto him. As we walked down the road people with webbed feet walked past us congratulating us for some reason and saying I hope you guys are happy. I just smiled and nodded...smile and nodded. I don't think I'll be able to smile properly again.
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