What if I left, just
walked away? Its been ages since I
cared about a weekday. I am terrible at my
work, which as often as not I shirk. I have some friends
in this place. They are all quitting, for a better state.
Of mind and body.
I have nothing in
hand, I have no plans. If I stay home, I am
afraid. Afraid that I will watch tv shows, and eat cheese and excavate
affection from an old dog who would rather sleep.
I no longer
understand my city or my country. They all know more than me. Prophecy
is easy for them, and television is smarter than a book or a newspaper. I barely
read either anymore.
How long
could I lie? Get up in
the morning and put on a (metaphorical) tie. Go to a
coffee place and have chai after chai after chai. In the evening get
drunk. Come back
home in a funk. I could do it for a while, then someone would tell. I'd be
out of money. And my bastard friends would bitch, about this little
hitch.
I'd give
their little minds, a little bit of fun. A chance
to feel superior, while they drink Sangria's like men drink rum. Each
wanting to intellectualise, a partial friend's demise.
Is that
why I stay? No I lie, I do that by the way. I like the money, I really do. I
just wish something interesting would give me some too.
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