4:17am

Here I am. 4 in the morning, jamming handfuls of oily, fatty chips down my throat with teeth-rotting cola as the only real lubricant to help get it all down. I feel like shit. I probably look like shit too. Hell, if shit could walk and talk, it’d waltzed on over to me and say,

“Dang, that’s a whole lot of shit. I thought I looked bad.”

It’s humid and I’m wiping my forehead of sweat and oil every 2 minutes. It’s a thick and dirty oil. It’s repulsive. It probably tastes like the shit I’ve been eating. I can only begin to imagine how my body copes. It’s the night. Wrong place, wrong time. I should be asleep. No. I shouldn’t be thinking in the first place, is what I should be doing. Or not doing? I don’t know. The night is a terrible mistress who teases you to follow her to the very end. To the moment where you’ve destroyed your dignity beyond repair, where she returns to her unreachable bedroom over the horizon and you’re left in the deep, inglorious morning gutters of your thoughts.

I should indeed sleep though. It’s 4:28am. I don’t have to be anywhere tomorrow. In fact, I’m not particularly needed tomorrow for any reason. Waking up without purpose is a morbid thought. Thus, I should stop thinking and stop sweating my ass off.

This photo is shit. I will probably regret posting it in the morning. 4:33am.