Fridges.

I want to live in a fridge. The clean, ordered space. Cold, yet cosy with warm clothes. Fridges smell wonderful when full with food and drink. I would never be hungry. My diet wouldn't suffer either, in fact, I think I would be healthier; fatty foods don't look, nor taste, very good once they have been in the fridge for awhile.

I want to live in a fridge. The fresh cold air invites me. It is a peaceful place - just a gentle hum sings sweetly in the background.

I want to live in a fridge.

I want to live in a fridge. The clean, ordered space appeals to me. Cold, yet cosy (with warm clothes on). Fridges smell wonderful when full with food and drink. I would never be hungry. I think I would be healthier; fatty foods don’t look, nor taste, very good once they have been in the fridge for awhile so I would not eat them.

I want to live in a fridge. With my doonah and pillow, kept consistently cold and fresh. I want to contemplate philosophy, read theology, dissect history and enjoy literature in my fridge.

I want to live in a fridge, with pets too. With pets that also want to live in a fridge. I will have a pet puffin named Bill who will share a glass of milk with me at night. I’ll read him poetry and he’ll flap his wings happily. My Arctic fox named Volttaire will contemplate philosophy with me, his great big black eyes will glitter and shine when he acknowledges the wisdom of the ancestors. And my Arctic Hare named Waldo will tussle his ears in rapture as I recount the wonders of the eternal to him.

I want to live in a fridge. The fresh cold air invites me. It is a peaceful place – with a gentle hum singing sweetly in the background.

I want to live in a fridge.