Half my body aches, but I am in no hurry in getting rid of the ache. There are things to do to propel this life through this night. What if I fail to do those things? Will I see the morning? The thought makes me stop doing everything. Outside, people come and go as another day vanishes from my life. When I think about it, a problem really never grows. It appears bigger inside my head. A week later, it will be nothing, whether I am dead or alive is entirely another matter. Man sticks a knife into another man’s flesh for certain reasons, most of which appear to be basic in nature. How much is he really guilty for wanting another kick in this joyless world. Outside, something is getting dragged, like it is a bundle of thin metal pipes. In this hour of night, where will they be taken to other than to some corner for mild rusting. But all of this is just what appears to be. On the fourth day, there’s an urge to break any routine that has built up. On fifth day, the routine gets broken. The reason behind all of it is forgotten. After living all this time, I can remember only so much.
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