40 minutes. That’s all I have got today. 40 minutes of trash writing. What follows those 40 minutes, I have no idea. I think I will fall dead under a mountain. At least that’s the image I have in my head right now. Me drunk and dead under a mountain. Please do not read further. I have no idea what I am talking about. It’s the devil’s hands on the keys and tonight, he will be writing for all of you. Tonight I am on a holiday. I have given the keys to my home to that devil. Tonight I am barefoot on the road with just a glassful in my hands. Tonight I am done with this world and its people. Shit. I was wrong. I have got only 20 minutes. Shit shit shit shit shit. I am kind of falling, and this kind of falling one has to bear alone. A falling more psychological than physical in nature. Shit. I guess that’s it for now. Tonight, another date with Vincent’s letters, that is if I remain alive until then. Vincent, you motherfucker.
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