Been working in a lumberyard lately. callouses cover my entire body now… had some gin, and realized that i am not meant to be in this world.
i miss the days of truth. how hard is it to tell someone how it is?
not very hard.
tell that to the people i know.
tell that to tbe people i used to work for.
tell that to the people i talk to.
point::
when i sit at the pub, i like to sit and enjoy gin/whiskey like i always do–never talking, always drinking.
someone talks to me like they care, i treat it as such.
i engage them.
moments later, they don’t know me…..must be the almighty gap/abercrombie syndrome.
the syndrome where if you don’t get laid for the clothes you wear, then you suck.
makes me sick beyond it all.
like ryan said—-i sit here alone, i live alone, and if this trend continues i will perish alone…
i was there on that bench, brutha.
so lonely it is out here.
toenail and asshair cluppings are all the human contact i see now.
the only sign of “intelligent” life.
last note:
if you refer to yourself as “firecrotch”, then you have some AWESOME S.O problems.