quasi_sean

Today I was in therapy, and the building I was in caught on fire. They evacuated the first and second floor. I was on the seventh. It was odd.

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But...I got to thinking about the deliveries, you know, like when your head swims, and you sit shaking and you stare for hours at all the shit on your desk. The Asprin, Plato, pens w/no ink, batteries(?), blank CD's, and your Marlboros--
and you feel like adding more, more until there is so much junk you have absolutely no more room for the silly important things like framed photos of your significant other or your bowling trophy from a million years ago, won in that seedy ass-stained alley somewhere over in country nowhere...but thinking of that is pathetic and it makes you sad and scared, and lonely...because you had friends back then, didn't you? They were the ones who dragged you out that night clutching your cheap award and threw you in the car before you could make anymore drunken redneck jokes. And where have they gone?
They left.
Or you left them.
Either way...you still have your trophy to chew on.