everyday little timmy comes to the gallery, places a biscuit on the wall of the balcony often making strange bird calls and hand movements, trying to call the hawks to have the biscuit. He also fears that some day they might come and make a hole in his head and knock him down. Lying bleeding, they will pick him up and fly up into the sky and let go of him in mid air so that he falls and his bones get crushed. And they will keep on repeating this act till he is dead. Then they will eat him. So he wishes to be their friend.
1 comment:
the red dot biscuits would do the trick......get them stronger.....and maybe redwine.....no water
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