I'm wrapped in between two slices of bread toasted by my little kid monsters and grilled with Dracula elderly in laws. Every day my neighborhood aunties pokes their Pinocchio nose and elves ears into our small niches. Sundays has been always hot with me to handle those planets in my galaxy. Working days are divided into desert and desserts on either sides. Stress irons me without any folding of happiness, anger whistles out pressure from my Hawkins nose, fear furs me inside.
Taking care of all problems and people around is a technological problem with evolving new version. I'm stuck into a Sandwich,will the witch rescue me &have a blissful journey on her broomstick.