MIGHTY OAKS FROM LITTLE ACORN GROW

The national mindedness of being a Japanese denizen was warming for Michael. Although, he was nauseated at certain times that he almost kecked. He loved the environment decked with ultra-modern facilities, the elaborate décors of rooms in hostel buildings, abacus-embossed architectural designs, oceanic technological aid, and the zenithal coziness of it all was the awesome stipend.
Down his alleys, he would bimble to the arboreal areas, spending quality time watching the perching white butterfly tinged with hues of brown and blots of white.

The quainty wood wafted cool air that made him impulsively leap until he could walk on a steady pace. The surly sun glaring on the trees snapping haloes on the ground.
“You know, mellowing out on a Sunday evening can be very relieving”
“Who are you talking to?
“You, of course”
He was one person that spoke to his mind and got instant replies. He believed the mind was a vessel of fire to be kindled, not one to be encapsulating hazy ideas. His youthfulness he retrospects with nostalgia—his exuberance was one of a kind. Since he was keen on nature, he gave yeoman services to the forensic arena; the decision was just too great for him.
“Do you know me?”
“Yes,”

Speaking to his mind again.
He was zanily the one that carried books, (an) avart-garde, bibliophile. He stumbled on an above-the-fold headline: Xenophobic attitude in South Africa, all pervading. Much as seeing this was a wrenching one, he could imagine the ways at which he was snubbed during his undergraduate days; he was awfully treated with wretchedest abashment.
While in Johannesburg, the moment he approaches anybody for chitchat, they would remain aloof with a mellowed demeanour, their pompous behaviour wriggling out of their school bags for the convenience of sitting down.
The wuthering gale in the forest flipping his sable hair made him squeal
“Stop it”, he said to Aminat.
The ‘world without end’ fashion at which it blew like the tides of the roaring forties. Issues worthier of further consideration. The moral wraith of singing in a cemetery and dreading to sleep at night. His wiry body accentuated his handsomeness somewhat. He was on his wits’ end thinking of how he can make a living in Japan. For now, it made no whit of sense, really.