Saturday, July 12, 2014

Post Script.

Soft jazz music plays from somewhere near outside. “Jesus Christ, people are up at 4am?”, I whispered to myself. I wondered what demons were visiting these motherfuckers. So many alone people trying their best not to find each other. Alone multiplied by many alone doesn’t really result to anything good. “Ha! I’m a fucking mathematician now”, I thought jokingly while lighting my last cigarette. Sex makes me puff cigarettes like I’m waiting for WWII bombs to fall. What a waste of my only best friend for now. Cigarette sticks and fuck—they’re the only good things left in my world. And alcohol. I almost forgot about the booze.

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