I used to want to be Peter Pan, and if not Peter Pan certainly one of the Lost Boys running wild in the woods with a mess of hair and a wooden sword shoved into a makeshift belt, whooping indian calls with feathers in my hair and dirt under my nails, not to mention being able to fly. Who am I kidding? I still want all that, just fly towards the second star to the right and straight on til’ morning.
Who wouldn’t want to live here!?
