I live in a tiny house with only one room at the bottom of a hill, at the top of a hill, next to a castle, next to a beach. Every morning I ride a sheep into the city. I stand in the street and try to cry. Sometimes it is difficult, so I look around this beautiful city and think about the places that make me sad. I look at the chain hung across the driveway at Wellington College that I tripped over in the dark and I think of climbing the fence, running, and watching 127 Hours before realising my arm was broken.
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