Paint me another red balloon please, Mr Banksy paint it with a longer string and tie it around my wrist so that it won’t escape from my little fingers and float into the sky to become a tiny dot that disappears forever; and please Mr Banksy don’t paint the wind, let it be still so that my hair doesn’t cover my eyes and my dress doesn’t flap around my knees and if the string becomes undone my new balloon won’t blow away. Continue reading Please, Mr Banksy