And why would I want the story to end either? Every night I have people calling in, we have a chat, they look around, they leave, someone else knocks and it goes on and so forth, just like home. Home sweet home, just like in Cork and I have the whole place to myself.
I tried uploading pictures of this inner city castle, (even though the name does say 'Cottage') on the net, of the house, the internet wasn't having any of my upload business, maybe it wasn't meant to be, the internet and me, the internet rejected photos of my home, gay porn? That’s fine, old women’s knitting patterns? Fine too. Videos of some mid thirty's (get a life, stop living life through a damn cat! ) chicks all over the world playing with their cats, fine, fine, fine. But not my house. I think it's called a bug, but I’ll refer to it as 'cruel fate', and I’m fine with it, I’m left to describe it with words, paint it with words even.
I'm an artist after all? And can you blame me, would you like to live with me? I'll bet you would, I live near everything worth living near, the air is clear, enough. I can walk to the city, the park is over the road, and life is good. I can get a $5 pizza, 2 minutes from my door. I know people, people know me, yea know? Sunshine? Yeah, I’ve got that thrown in too, all you have to do is stick your head out the back yard, if you had some good drugs you could go on a nature walk, but the walk would be contained in a small back yard, did I say you would need good drugs?
For only $200, bills (and balls) included, it's your ticket to the sweet, sweet life, so get in quick!!
The best thing is, as long as I’m not on the beer, the place is totally affordable for me to live there, alone with my thoughts and I can be as choosy as I want before I let anyone join my gang!!