Tramgirl has been getting ready for Christmas since July.
She’s been painting, baking, dress making, singing. You name it, she been at it.
Not for herself, for others.
When I asked her the other day what she wanted for Christmas.
She took in a deep breath, flared her nostrils, stared at the floor and took in two more long breaths.
‘How many times do I need to tell you, I don’t want anything.’
Alright I thought, no need to be so righteous about it.
I went and put the kettle on.
That night as I was hopping into bed I found a note under my pillow.
It read.
Christmas is a time of surprises.
Please stop asking me what I want and just buy me something.
Thanks x
PS. Optic Nerve Adrian Tomine
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