Careful I care about people more than they care about me, does that make me sound conceited? I don't mean it to. It's not a criticism of them or a boast of mine, just an observation I've made from looking back over time. But maybe it should be. Something I'm proud of, I mean. I don't want the people I love to ever doubt themselves or who they are to me. They should be certain that at least one person in the whole world of people they meet, can see who they are and value every little thing. Like my mate Joe. He was a short little fella, who spiked his hair so you wouldn't know. Soft spoken voice, and a loud laugh right after, like a steam boiler buzzing before it blows. We used to play football on the way home, well he did, I mostly chased the ball behind bins and fallen garden gnomes. He was faster than me, and the bugger wouldn't shift. Like he dug his heels in and begged you just to try and push him or lift. I'd buy the pizza when we left the park, carry the ball and the conversation too. He'd munch through four slices while I rambled along, finally get my turn when his was through. Then I'd shove him away as we laughed our goodbyes, and little did he know I always looked back two more times. Pt:1