It's difficult sometimes, living with Mister Scarface. Not that I'm complaining. It's just that sometimes, every once in a while, I thought maybe I could do my thing. What I want to do. But Scarface likes to be in control. You see, I like Westerns – I've always loved horses, and Cowboys and Indians was my favourite game as a child. But Scarface hates their 'silly six-shooters' and their 'stupid spurs'. He prefers mobsters with splurge guns and fast cars. I don't mind all that too much, but after a long hard day dealing with a criminal outfit, I like to relax. Not come home to more of the same.
Poetry is my other escape. At least, it was. Scarface doesn't approve of that either. He doesn't like reading. Baths don't interest him either, nor does painting or opera. Anything I do to unwind is an instant offence to his sensibilities. I can't get any peace. If he doesn't let me blow off steam soon, I'll have a mental breakdown!