The Outsider

The moment when you walk into a room, and silence falls and heads hang low. A lack of eye contact is a dead give away to your distaste for the subject in front of you.

Completely unpleasant and distinctly female, as predictable as your over-exposed cleavage. Smashing up things and creatures and then retreating back into your carelessness.

I propose a toast to the not so bright, not so young things, to all your unsuccessful ventures, and your lack of passion and your lust for your so-called-life.