The Secrets of the Bad Boy
I point with my index finger to the happy cloud, I hope he locates it, he narrows his vision; I assume he found it, “It looks like a gorilla playing guitar.”
He dazzles me with his beautiful laugh.
“Clouds have no shape, that's nonsense,” he laughs, but the intensity of his laughter decreases, “and even if they did, it doesn't look like a gorilla playing the guitar.”
“I see her like that,” I shrug and sweeten myself with another spoonful, “What shape do you see?”
He tilts his head and takes a better look at the cloud that is already leaving.
“I would say it's a dinosaur.”
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