!

I live in solitary confinement in a fetid room rank with cobwebs and the heavy scent of warm humidity assailing my senses every waking hour.

I find myself thrust into a worried disturbance every time I lay eyes on a herd of deer wallowing in the green-ish fields and am torn between a primitive appreciation of aesthetic cud-chewing heterodonts and a primal urge to charge at them and gnaw at their ribs.

I have come to realise that I may have a problem. Without alcohol, it's a dry, dry world.

What am I?






Someone with nothing to write of course.

Hah! And you thought I had writers' block.