My parents are hippies. Not fake hippies, those pot-smoking pottery-dabbling champagne lefties who buy second-hand books on Glebe Point Road and keep a 'holiday place' just outside Byron Bay.
No, my parents are real hippies. They live on seven acres in the Blue Mountains, and they don't have electricity. My dad hand-built their house (no mean feat for a social worker). They live off rainwater. They heat their home by burning wood (from fallen trees, nothing chopped down on purpose). They
Langganan:
Posting Komentar (Atom)
Tidak ada komentar:
Posting Komentar