My inner monologue whenever I pass plants that I could bring home and add to the windowsill...
I'm sure I could find more space on the windowsills. --there is no more space on the windowsills-- This one has a different texture/this one could keep the one just like it company.
Maybe I could run away and live on a farm somewhere.
I really need to find a piece of dirt to play in. Just a small one. Maybe. But dirt. Real dirt. Where things could grow and where I could get life under my fingernails. And maybe have some worms.
What if I snuck up to our building's roof and created a garden there? I wonder how long I could get away with it. I should look up city law about that. And maybe insurance policies. Or I could ask the manager...but I should probably just ask him. But he'll probably say no. So I should just do it in secret.
Someday chickens maybe.
...Despite our apartment fast reaching plant-saturation levels, I often bring home new ones and so far we have always found room on the windowsill. I may not be able to have a patch of dirt all my own for a little while yet but, thanks to my long-suffering, plant-crowded roommate, I can have little pots of it scattered across the apartment.