Consumed by consumerism, starving to death while drinking your last Coke. The world is going to the gutter and we celebrate it like there is no tomorrow. For there’s none. Zero. ¿Comprendes?

Enter the end of the day. Listen to some generic, watered down folk indie songs on Spotify, as you hide from the sun you sought-after all winter. That bloody, fucking endless winter.

How much must a man fuck up til the tipping point? Open question, no rush to answer it. Let it sink in. Have a drink. Make it double. One for you, one for the sober me. But don’t stop the wondering. Ponder away. Existentially. Spiritually. Sexually. Unethically.

Birds chirping, out in the street. I sit in front of the window, only in my yellow undies. Playing with the million hairs on my arm. Letting things roll down the engines of my mind. One too many questions going around.

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