Outside your window part II

A place to call home . . . how many would really understand what these words mean to me? Probably few, I could have this conversation with a stranger in the jazz bar, over a drink or with a familiar face – meaning the waiter or the owner of the jazz bar. But really, honestly, why should I talk to someone else? What good would it do? It is just facts, the simple facts of life, mmm cars are passing and I can smell the fumes, the fragrance of the city.

Well, a place to call home. Heh, there is no place like home they say and that is so true. Few years ago, if someone asked me, yes, I would say that I was on my way home. But what does the word home meant to me? Well, home equals with Inside The Mouth Of Hell, oh yes that is an accurate description. But my house means. Today. Means the absence of Sound. The absence of another human will. Tranquility. What else do I need? Peace. A place to call home, my house, my shelter, the place where my soul can rest. I am getting use to that, it feels good.