writabill
ticking away on a clock on a wall. the stiff rancid smelling couch. the cold tile and old magazines. I hear the hustle and bustle in the hall and I know that you will never accompany those sounds again. Waiting. Waiting for the doctor to arrive.
"Well I don't care what you say" the teapot shouted "you look exactly the same to me now can we get back to planning our takeover of the world? These things don't just happen by themselves you know!"
"bitch." the pot muttered.
"on that we can agree." said the kettle.