He loved to
call himself Victor Hugo. All of his neighbors thought he was mad. Wherever he
went, he would wear this kinky black lace dress and draw circles in his long
white curly hear. The century’s have past, but in his eyes, the elegance and
the creativity of a poet were running in his blue blood. He would drink ink before
he went to sleep; “a one shot” he'd say, to dream of beautiful words he could
design in his imagination the way he wanted, in a world with no limits.