Polar

The place is somewhere.
The time is vintage and it is not settled in some kinda of cottage, I will say more about in a latty. There is a song playing ‘I wish I was a polar bear…I wish a polar bear…I wish ….’
The floor is orange and read, big spots, very smooth and elegant batts. They are ajax to a crystal table, they are charping for something, some dish. It’s not possibile to see the efac, but there are oglefakes on. Semi-dark oglefakes reading the capital letters on the glossies on the table mixed with handbag, just throwned in to a bijou messy.
A hand takes the beige parlare pipe. He moves his riah, he stays palliass, high lallies in to soft kaffies. Outside the window some high parlare, someone minces. The lilly’s light. Just a lill out of the window. The chicken vadas it, his plate runs away and he enters.
It’s going to be a fabuolosa!