Every felt it where you look at your page and just see words, like in a different language and none of them make any sense to you any more. It feels like your strength has left, like someone knows your secret and taken it away from you. I feel how Samson must have felt with no hair. Almost naked without the skill that befalls you, without it you’re just bald. Its tragic, but it brought me here to my new favourite place this park bench. I don’t look so bald here. It feels as if Samson bought a wig, or bought a translator. I suppose, to hide a bit of the shame. This park bench does it for me, and being here brought me to you...
