He is the child that can’t wait. Pensive, tense, excited, irritable, his mood swings back and forth from feigned nonchalance to fervent fretting.
One moment he is oozing laissez faire, content to let life swing onwards, safe in the knowledge he will pick things up when he must. The next he is arrogantly unforgiving of anything that doesn’t suit him. He will pander to no-one, then placate them on the upswing.
Turning to the usual outlet, the words spin from my head, delicate threads draped on a well worn carpet.
