One quarter of an hour to three in the afternoon and it's just me and five dirty fingernails. Uneven keratin sullied by the ultrasonically removed dead flesh, dried perspiration, soap scum and putrefied bodily fluids found on the backs of the timepieces of imperfect strangers. Putrid black stains of recent gainless employment in the local center of capitalism. Energies typically reserved for getting out of bed, not writing, preventing the self termination of metabolic functions, acquiring amphetamines, string instrument simulation and masturbation are spent on arriving on "time" to public transportation pick up locations, preventing termination of obdurate customers' metabolic functions, acquiring profits, human simulation and masturbation. Not being a great lover of people and being unafraid of unethical or criminal endeavors unethically bamboozling people would seem a criminal endeavor right down my alley but my interests lie solely in avoiding folks, not fucking them. I'm no Tony Robbins. A little closer to three in the afternoon. Economic benefits are meager and fast being outweighed by emotional hindrances. Perhaps I will find a million dollars on the bus. Three minutes to three in the afternoon. Or a pistol.
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