i’m watching a british youtuber’s birthday stream and an aussie viewer sent in a comment saying “why was he born so beautiful, why was he born at all? because he had no say in it, no say in it at all” which was received with confused existential horror, and this is how i just discovered that australian happy birthday songs are not universal
oops
do you not sing this in other countries?!?!??
NO we do not sing a lament for someone’s personal beauty wishing they’d never been born. That is some weird Greek tragedy shit.
“Lock the door,” says Flint, eyes never lifting from the papers piled atop his desk. Silver slides the latch into place, his ear warmed by the subtle clicking noise that promises privacy.
“I brought wine,” Silver pulls the bottle from behind his back. “It’s Rioja,” he adds as Flint hums his approval. “I also brought cheese,” Silver grins slyly as he approaches the desk.
Flint’s body turns towards him, thighs falling akimbo while Silver settles into the exposed lap. “Mmmmm what else did you bring?” Flint purrs.
Silver places the small jar of oil in the center of Flint’s desk.
Silver closes the door, pours himself a cup of wine, and stares at Madi’s handwriting on the envelope. How she traced him, and what she needs to tell him, is anyone’s guess.
He breaks the seal. Two sheets of paper. One is from Madi, just a few succinct words. The other – Silver recognizes the handwriting and freezes. He has a long drink, then another.
He takes a deep breath and unfolds the letter. He frowns, sighs, smiles, frowns again. Then he pockets the letter, finds a key, unlocks the wardrobe, grabs his pack and starts shoving his clothes into it.
mici's campfire 