Wednesday, August 9, 2017


Coming home, wind in sails, elated at the freedom and possibilities. Finding dinner, to cook or be cooked for. Settling fork in mouth to communicate in a series of grunts between commercial breaks. Frustrations over TV breakdowns. Threats of baseball bats and eventual giving up for a shower and restless sleep, wherein dreams are just fears and catalysts to an angry state upon waking. What do I want? It doesn't feel like this means anything.

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