Staffan Lindström

The bathroom door was half closed, or half opened depending on which kind of person you are. On the inside I saw the reflection of my own grin on a shining mirror. The cold walls were painted green, and the plain and boring design of the room made them look intence, not far from the colors of a bright summers day.As I lit my cigarette and flicked the ashes down the washbowl, I finally noticed the little blackhaired boy sitting in the other corner. Staring.He began to sing.---As this little blackhaired boy, I love to sing. Toy with words. Make art. My name is Staffan. I'm seventeen and I'm the little blackhaired boy.