Delaware

This place is bleak the end of a novel always cold here and there everyone seems to want a piece of your time to talk about empty bottles left on a shelf it’s like a giant vampire as it sucks everything out of me and makes itself even more of an asshole everything and everywhere forcing me to spend weekends hiding out in the cellar coming up for air and food and music and books and film and pussy and caffeine forcing me to reevaluate where and when I want to come out. Black horns help me out on blah blah blah Friday nights like this one and the one before and the one after it. I lost out on all of my old party contacts. Grey hair and a need to just shut up for the night keeping me content and never depressed even though I seem it. I just want to get away. This place, they all need some sort of an escape method; alcohol, drugs, constant television so they don’t have to talk to each other. I want to do the complete opposite of this, sit around and listen to some stupid girl talk about this and that and everything in between. Sit around and listen to some smart chick talk about this and that and everything else. I don’t want to listen to men complain they are fat or men complain they are cold or women complain about potholes in the road or women complain about how so and so from thirty four years ago wronged them. All of them drag me down and make me talk to myself about life and how to live it. I guess I am retiring.