I opened the bedroom window and immediately the cold air of a February morning slapped me hard in the face and I rubbed my cheek. A groan began to escape my mouth before I realised what, actually, a blessing the absence of heat was, given the unforgivable stench seeping out from my opened wardrobe and straining to travel through the constricted vessels of the icy air. I lazily dragged my feet over and found him, knocked out. If I remember correctly, I only put a few in him but he was out cold, laying in his own piss and I don’t know what else. If I had more time the stench would come from his decomposing body, but I had other matters to attend to. Besides, its 7am. An early start because I need to visit Eli, he claims to have a cure for that achy back I’ve had.
Late Eid Mubarak guise (and what a fitting post. Sorry). Improvement of the opening of something I wrote for a project at school. Yes. I will finish it before I die. I have a title for it. Forget that though, for now I have a new direction because I’m sick of myself. I’m feeling a huge attack on misogyny. But before that, expect another political post.
Now playing: In the summertime – Mungo Jerry