I sigh again and drift into thought. Why does Nic always dream of unicorns? There has to be a deeper meaning to that. I mean, the most perverted of people... and unicorns. It just doesn't make sense.
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
These were autumn mornings, the time of year when kings of old went forth to conquest; and I, never stirring from my little corner in Calcutta, would let my mind wander over the whole world. — Rabindranath Tagore, The Cabuliwallah