In the glove compartment, there’s a paper orchid. In his pocket, there’s a stone with his lover’s initials carved deeper than love. The sound of laughter, and the rattle of teeth from a mouth that’s tasted death more than it should’ve. Bellies of desire that sit hunched in pain and anguish. The beautiful ones who feel too much while the rest live as if life never even existed. I saw a photo of Kim Kardashian. She was nude and as sexless as a gutted pig hanging from a black chandelier. The only time she’ll elicit passion in me is when they put her on the slab. A photo of her bloated corpse would be an image with meaning to wipe away a lifetime of money, as money saves those not worth saving. Those who speak of it lack merit, and should be regarded with contempt. As the clock ticks away, I lay in the bath attempting to abuse myself, but I’m too tired. I was thinking of her mouth, and what it would be like to trace my fingers along those lips of hers. Lethargy reigns, though, and I surrender to apathy by just lying there. The bells of the church I walk past on my way to work sound in the distance, but I’m not sure what they’re playing. It rains and then it hails. The days are dim, but I know that soon they’ll be brighter. The only time I feel at peace is walking around the quarry, and when Spring comes around, that’s where I’ll be. Away from those I resent, the pleasures of a solitary man flourish the best they can. Nature is my only friend. The trees and flowers. The ageless sky. With the breeze caressing my face, I’ll part the stalks of corn and walk with meaning. If you don’t understand I can’t love you; it’s just the way it goes, for this is how I am.