Hour 74

I'm seeing shadows again. Not just on the walls or on the floors, but walking alongside me on the subway or on the street. 72 straight hours without sleep, and still high from the caffeine, in no state to reach dormancy.

I could read a book from cover to cover, watch a movie, fuck a whole harem's worth of women - and I think I'd still be wide awake.

It's Thursday morning, officially, but it feels like it could be any day. In any year, probably. In any month between April and September. But it sure doesn't fucking feel like 6AM. 6PM, maybe. Except no place will serve me a fucking meal anywhere, and I don't have the shit to make my own at home.

And I'm a wanderer anyhow, today. I was in the same seat for three days, I can't possibly go get stale some place new right away, it wouldn't make sense, but then again, this whole situation isn't what you'd call ''normal''. I call it normal, but I'm not just anyone, like the song says.

Apparently, it's not too early for prostitutes to be out and about. Or maybe it's just the one, that one, she looks like her name could be Rita, the prettiest one around these parts, tall, just a tad overweight but a chest that could suffocate a chimp in less than 5 minutes. I'm sure she'd make just as much money as a waitress or a stripper. She must like the foul sex and staying soaked with the stench of raunchy men for days. And she keeps hovering between the subway and my house, those three fucking blocks, like she's stalking me. And every time I look at her, she acts shy. What hooker blushes when you look them in the eye? In a City that's rotting to its very core, it'd be too Hollywood for the lone humane one with a heart to be the one who charges money to get filled up with the remains and secretions of perverts and politicians.

And rows of kids, all tied up to one another, I'm not sure if it's because their keepers are genuinely worried that something might happen to them, or if the kids are actually just too dumb to not get themselves killed every five minutes - or perhaps, worse still, it's so they get used to the feel of bondage, as if it could be of use later in Life. You never know. And at this time, neither do I.

I'm blessed, in a way. Some people drink to get to this level. I'm just here. Witnessing. The best things happen in the mornings, the strangest sights: birds commiting suicide, car crashes, street lights malfunctionning at rush hour. Or you could stay at home and have the best sex with someone you might be tired of while you both have morning breath.

I'm just along for the ride.