Alligator eyes through honest to goodness rose-tinted glasses are the only thing protecting you from your hair. Your hair being the only thing protecting you from the world. Ah, the sad poet, the disgruntled mime. The beret-wearing freak never without a play firmly wedged in back pocket black denim. Well, supposed to be black but grey really.

What bothers me about you is that you've actually read the play (and seven others by the same writer). You know the history of the beret and you've attended mime school long enough to justifiably be disgruntled.

I used to wonder what part of you was missing that you could hold so much knowledge, no, not knowledge, information... but now I know. You're parents might be right. I might be a bad influence on you intellectually. I don't drain you because I'm stupid, but because you need to make room for emotion.

So, tell me dear Alligator Eyes, how does it feel? How does it feel to be in a world without cues, with no buzzer to push, and the correct question or extra wedge in your plastic wheel won't help you here. You can't make an invisible ladder or box to protect you from this wind.

No, never mind, you don't have to tell me, because I can see through your hair to reveal cracked coloured plastic and beyond that I can see your alligator eyes trying to hide from my gaze. But they have nowhere to go and they let me know how it feels so you don't have to.