It’s early Monday morning, nice and quiet, even the cockerel that crows seems to have snoozed. It is quiet, beautiful, perfect, just perfect for me to get started. But alas, thirty minutes in I have no idea what or how to write. My fingers have been drumming on the keys…gibberish, all gibberish.
What do I write? Gibber jabber, mambo jambo! My cleaning lady is hanging the sheets, I can hear my neighbours irritating children screaming, breakfast must be a hassle again today. There goes the gate again, swinging open, someone’s left the premises. Not much is going on in the neighbourhood, most people have gone to work and school. It is now 8 am, still nothing to write.
And now who is left? The caretakers, one chap who is mentally underdeveloped; calling him retarded is mean, he isn’t. He has the mind of someone with down syndrome. I don’t actually…
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Niko Safarini 
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