Life is full of extremes. Love and Hate and nobody cares about what is in between. But I do. I care about mediocre people. They perplex me and vex me and if I could get my hands around a mediocre person’s neck…They are thieves and vagabonds dressed in nothing, but splendour.
Her mediocre face looks up happily, eyes bright behind her mediocre skin. She has no cause for happiness and yet it is the privilege of her mediocrity, not to see it. And he…a waste of what could be, a not quite, a worse than mediocrity. I can’t look at mediocre people, standing tall and unashamed. I cover them in my criticism and yet it is my curse to see them all the same.