#91

time has a way of putting you in your place even if your place is a highrise penthouse in a concrete jungle of crackerbox toy guns and holy rollers in a turkish bath between the wall and a black hole ten micrometers wide that sucks you in like a vacuum cleaner with jet engines that took leonardo da vinci from zero to genius in three point seven seconds on a bull named fu manchu after a desperate parachuting venture designed to make you appreciate the life you threw away into a fluorescent cubicle on the fourth floor of a seventy six story building in midtown next door to your penthouse apartment built on the grimy souls of the rats in the subway huddled together in scarves and desperation on new years eve with nowhere to go but drunk and forgetting all the time that nobody saw passing by until it was too late and youre dying of cirrhosis on your nephews couch trying to get that liver to split on open but your shot after shot is just messing with your mind so you get a gun for a real shot and fill the barrel with vodka and put it to your lips and realize that the cool metal on your lips goes nicely with the hot filth in your gullet so you do it over and over again until you cant see and you wake up the next morning with a foggy memory of the good time you had the night before