Dear Diary,
I’m just ordinary. Your typical average guy. The one you always bumped with in the street and didn’t pay attention. Ordinary. Most of the time average. Which ever comes first. Or sometimes both. Ordinary and Average.
I am no special – and that I am sure. Like your nondescript, typical, average, ordinary guy who will shave his head off all for the love of theatre. The absolute average guy you have conceived in your mind. Very like that. Or close to being like that. Which ever comes first. Very or not so very.
There’s nothing to be interested in, really. I am just an average, your typical, ordinary guy who tends to be alone and quite, prefers to go unnoticed and unfamiliar. Precisely that run-of-the-mill guy you think of for a second and forget the next. Or which ever comes first. Or vice versa. Forget and rethink.
I am plain and common. What I do or what I say is something unimportant to you. I am just that typical, insignificant, undistinguished guy who avoids pain, but gets hurt, tries to stand still, takes a deep breath and walks on – In orderly manner, ofcourse. But the space isn’t as hasty as it may sound.
That’s what I am. Ordinary. Average. Typical.
ehem. Angas, ‘toL.
