Waking up surrounded by others, there are two spots on either side of my right nipple. Through chest hair, I see a reddened smear. Picking until it bleeds, my fingers sniff out cancer just in case. Awkward teenagers going shopping with their parents. Boys with crippling shyness and girls with braces supporting crooked teeth. Dragging feet and feeling petulant, the day bleeds as routine consumes all. Urinating an unhealthy shade of orange, the light flickers then goes out leaving me stranded in an unlit disabled toilet. Sounds of laughter, of feverish excitement as somewhere nearby an old man is struck by a car. His wife rushes to his aid, and then she’s hit by a bus. All their lives leading up to that point. How dismal and absurd. The hours tick away as a stray dog befriends a squirrel. In the local park they play, and despite the circumstances, they enjoy every second. Junk food brings desire, just like the knowing eyes of someone lost in the machine. A familiar face amongst ghosts, and a steady believer in the decaying sense of self. A writer he says. A fanatic of expression through words. A lover of mental lubrication and casual masturbation regarding bodies on the cusp of something wonderful. Benches facing busy roads. Pregnant women pushing prams loaded with shopping. Bruised and dishevelled, they puff on cigarettes and blow smoke into their children’s faces. They hate the fuckers, yet this is the design they chose. Irritable bowels and restless legs on long car journeys. The same forced smiles in endless photographs. Dreary fuckers harping on about marriage. Then they get married, and that’s the end. Job done. Shackled to dead weight as a skyscraper implodes like a shadow on the sidewalk. Too many years get behind you while the tears remain unseen. If you keep it all in, then one day it will release in the most dreadful of ways. It’s summer, yet it’s raining. Spiders crawl across floorboards as my belly aches for compassion. No more being quiet. No more lethargy. Observe and convert into opinion. Study each face and try to work out what appals you the most. The stains of history, or the morbid neglect of the soul.