Back to reality where the grass is artificial and the sun doesn’t shine but glares, free stuff is a given until it is taken for granted.
Free stuff is not a blessing, it’s a hibah draped in Dolce scarf and dressed with invisible ribbons, priceless as youth and worthless as rotten fruit; how we indulge and spit out the spoils when they turn sour, how the aftertaste is bitter with ambiguity and deceit.
Yet the hands are accustomed to the flopping fishes fresh from the tide, and what a fool of those who cry for nobility and hide behind the cause for the greater good.
The applause is deafening as the masses cheer through the waves and waves of goodies unappreciated, unloved.
There must exist a separate dimension, where the temptation to choose the lift over stairs is superior, that taking away the blanket in nights of warmth is criminal.
Hence, the giving keeps giving, for none had lived a day without free bags of coin thrust upon their free properties and vacations.
It is about time that the takers learn to give, and I learn to take.