Off Work Early

Right. Some days you win and some days you lose. Some days you write crap to rave reviews and some days you write, what you consider to be funny shit, and no one likes it. Strikes and gutters. Some days it's beautiful and airbrushed and other days it's women blowing horses for crank money.
The fucking moon is huge.
Oedipus did a lot more than fuck his mother.
It's early evening. The mothers and fathers are playing with their kids across the street. Life is good. Seesaw goes up and down and the swings go back and forth while the merry go round is out of service due to a bad bearing. Such is life. Sooner or later we have no desire to hang out with the folks. It must sadden them, though they never let on. How depressing it must be to once have been the recipient of such gratefulness for something as small as a new toy, now you barely receive thanks for a loan cosigning or a new kidney. At one time you are the center of their world, now a bit part left on the editing room floor. Everything you say or do is wrong, whereas once it was never questioned. They are turning that playground into a gas station.
I miss my dog.
My apartment is small.
In my life I have seen power corrupt none, I have however, seen poverty corrupt plenty. Think about that shit while you eat your bagel and wish you had a croissant.