Waiting For Godot
Nothing happens. Nobody comes, nobody goes. It’s awful.
Samuel Beckett, Waiting For Godot
A new drawing, of an old bench. It was kicked to pieces years ago, and though a new one stands in its place I can’t help preferring the scabby old one, covered in fading graffiti and names gouged into the wood. It had scars. It had a story. It had earned its place on earth.