White spots on fingers

Got a little water, feeling dizzy. Bones of mine every which way. Tapping my foot waiting for nothing. Thinking of that time it rained long ago? Remember that, that was the present, nothing like it no more. Looking at the sky gasping the last breaths before it all goes down.

There is nothing like seeing a late term abortion on the screen during coitus.

I didn’t tell her to turn it on, but she jumped up and yipped.

God, these experiences are never good. I should be working. I should be right, but I am not. What do I have to go back to- serving customers coffee, a computer printer, nachos? The story has been told many times before. And since my sense of purpose is augmented by the internet, I’ve heard this story ad infinitum. And what can I do? With hands that ache and no one to speak to in this filthy room, I just rot. Sure sure skip over, look at some of this and some of that, I couldn’t direct you where to go. I have no novel images that might make that endorphin you’re chasing fire. That’s the beauty of youth, the luxury to chase pleasure. Age not having enough time to rot your guts so you’re eyes still look clear and eager.


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