There is a fence in the feild where i live. It is not white nor polished nor smooth. It is only brown. And there is a figure over there. Behind the fence. i think it is a man with a huge metal pipe through his head. And then there is a mouth on the face of this man. It spits out blood evry fourth hour, thinking that there is no life in this feild by the fence. There is something living. There is the man,and the brown fence by which he crouches. There is his mouth and there is his blood; and then for what reason i do not know, then there is me.