Pink Like A Shrimp


I am escaping to Australia, my newborn baby daughter swaddled up in my arms. We’re escaping to seek asylum for some undisclosed reason. She is astoundingly pink, and purrs like a kitten, unaware of our predicament of which I am glad. We make it safely into the country, and manage to get whoever was after us off our tail, so I rent out some happy yellow rooms with vintage 70’s appliances.


Sweet blue shutters open out to a pretty view of the sea. The hardwood floors are always sun-warmed and I put down a little rose-colored rug, the bathroom needs some fixing up, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Our rooms are above a bakery and it always smells like warm bread, puffs of flour and rising sourdough. I buy my daughter her own orange kitten and we play with it, tugging bits of ribbon along the floor.


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