Sun.
It’s in days like this that I miss the freedom of the independent workers’ life.
Pantless. Jobless. Pennyless.
But happy. (Somewhat happy.)

The grass is always greener on the other side, innit?
Whether it’s the neighbor’s or simply outside.
Greener under the sun of a shiny sunny day.

Lost in some past summer day.
I remember walking around under the sun.
Unemployed. Broke. Desperate.
No greener pastures. No pastures at all.

As I fatten, sitting at my office desk, the sun slowly comes down, and the mood follows.
Sigh.
Can a working man be happy for a change?
Or are sunny days reserved for the poor fucks,
that wander the world lacking money, but rich in time?