My relations with the world are bordering on peculiar. Nameless seduction the same day I send off my lucky number six. Today I got a call from down south. A welcome voice from the soulless city with no sky. This one’s addicted darling, sticky on my skin like heroin honey. Your eyes when they open are full of stars. He wants me to move for him. Come down to the land of plastic people. Palm trees always strike me as slightly sad. Over used in the 80’s to represent glamour, they’re reaching thinly for the stars exactly like the dieting hopefuls swarming in high heels around the symbolic trunks. Somehow I maintain a precarious balance. If it was for longer than half a year, I might do it.