Rambling off the white page

I felt like writing some random, raw and naked creative prose, so i sat down and just went where my fingers took me. Thus I call whatever you are about to read 'I don't even  know' Why? Because I really don't know what the fuck I did. If I had been accused of having broken into a bank with the help of prostitues, all within the time it took me to write this, then I couldn't say you were wrong. I really don't know what happened. I don't even know.

And so Andrew Smith toppled out of his shabby hipster apartment in Rome, with the same dishevelled twenty-some -thingness of his loosely worn clothes and wavy hair, which was neither here nor there, just like the clothes abandoned around his room, punctuated with stacks of CDs, which blared out his twenty-somethingness taste in British and American rock music. Like a message of his exotic idiosyncrasy carried through hermetic sound-waves. The Italian neighbours did not notice any irregularity. But Andrew, prided on his quixotic heritage took every step with a brazen energy that seemed to think its swagger demanded attention. He was a bloody-bloomin brit, graduated in classics, who proudly walked the streets as if a magical archaeologist of all the unattainable wonders of Rome. A rollicking adventurer into the unknown, who talked to the Italian shop-keepers and tourists with a deliberately placed British inflection, in his otherwise perfect Italian accent. The Italian shop keepers and tourists noticed no irregularity. He made huge strides through crowds of young Italian girls, with a slight British smile, though his homemade pasty-white skin had been tanned since living in Rome for several years. But look at me! He thought. I’m a specimen from the land of tomorrow come to charm and tame the wild dames of this far off universe! The Italian girls noticed no irregularity, other than his peculiar swagger, which seemed to imply his legs had structural difficulty. Or just that his pants were full of crap. Those two things actually were noticeably British.

- Taha

P.S I'm not racist, being a brit myself. I do like other Brits. Most of them. Some of them.