They say the good defines the bad, but there are things beyond measure or classification in any man’s story. Sometimes, not always, circumstances affected the function of my clean machine. The inappropriate order of processional disconnect messed with my mind. Caught changing horses in midstream, directionless and alone, I set my thumb to work on the great highway and got myself gone. Never ever go back.
An incessant pouring of cold calls in the menagerie of strange encounters drenches the soul in disbelieving. Sell me a story, make it a good one. We all sell something precious and we all have a price.
To tell the truth I’m having my V2 moment – earth shattering in its hellish brilliance. The cause of my cracked ceilings and situations smashed was staking all on a long shot that failed to show. I’d probably do it again, but I’ll never get the chance; such are the rules in life. We only live once, but you can die a thousand deaths. So smooth my sleep and stamp my dirt down. You won’t meet me again this side of heaven.