Sometimes I think my life would make a great novel. Well, to be more precise, it would be many novels, each of them inspired by different episodes of my life: when my plants used to die, when I discovered that my neighbour lays naked in bed with her curtains open, when the mosquitoes don’t let me sleep in summer, or when I scream because I dropped bleach on my clothes, just to mention a few.
These book titles are fake, they don’t exist. However, I believe they should. Because I’m pretty sure we all know someone that would need to read any of them. That’s why I couldn’t help getting in front of my laptop, opening Adobe Illustrator and giving free rein to my creativity (and sarcasm).