I draw these fancy bags all day, make up names for clothes no one even needs, stuff that costs more than my mum makes in a month. And then I go home and walk past the bins overflowing with plastic, feel that hot sun beating down even in winter now. My stomach twists up real tight, like a knot of old string. It feels like I'm selling bits of the air, bit by bit, to people who just want more and more. It makes me wanna hide under my bed 'til everything just… stops.