th of the bad drivers a fore-mentioned. Currently, I am unable to distinguish whether my landscape has improved for the better of its people. Maybe if I was someone who avoided the truth, overlooked the homeless people living by the train tracks with spare tires for Lay-Z Boys and stolen mattresses as their water beds, and acted like the adults who scorn my proposal for community service as a graduation requirement, I would shout, "Golly gee, my landscape sure is great." But I am not like anyone else, and, as the odd one out, I remain the cat that continually risks curiosity's malice. I don't mind the fact that I do not have a bumbling speech on how my town has constructed and enriched me, yadda, yadda, and more yadda. Apart from the few enlightened ones who have assisted me on my journey, I have built myself, brick by brick, to form a building that is the center of attention in my own painting of a landscape. Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin will I let anyone or anything blow me down. If they do, I will be certain to come back as the philosophically big, bad wolf in my next life and enjoy them for the Last Supper....
