It's with painted nails, I begin this tale of verbal abuse, comedic sex, and sobbing socialites. Come join me at this written orgy where, instead of pleasuring all involved, I satisfy only myself, leaving all others dejected and ill amused.

He sat up late.
Listening vapidly for answers that seemed unavailable.
He felt.
At least he thought that he did.
He just didn't know what it was that he was feeling about.
Or thinking about for that matter and...

Things went on.
They always do.

He woke up early.
He did that sometimes.
He yawned, and tried to find out where the roommate's had hidden the coffee and...

Things went on.
They always seemed to.

He ate lunch.
It filled his belly but it wasn't what he was hungry for.
He only seemed to think that it was.
That he was full of something, of that much he was certain.
He went back to work and...

Things went on.
He noticed that now

Things will be,
Good and bad,
Hectic, sad,
Frustrating and balanced,
And all for the taking.

He stopped.
Beside a Willow.
The branches held his thoughts.
A star held his wishes.

He slept then.
Held tight.

He found a dream of a smile.
It broke a heart at paces.
How many?
Jesus, who has time to count?

Things went on.
He knew that they would.

Morning came.
He fought the afternoon.

Afternoon reared.

He prayed for evening.
It invited him for beverages.
Evening sent him home.

He sat up late.