VIII

I light a cigarette because it seems the right thing to do. She’s gone and there’s no sense in waxing poetic on it. I’ve come to a realization just now anyhow and pull out a piece of paper to scribble down a few words. “People don’t change. A person can change their surroundings, their job and even their friends. They can make all manner of physical and superficial changes. In the end however you are wired one way, to think a long one track.” Maybe I don’t really mean this, but it sounds good. Feeling quite content with the cliché garbage I have spewed onto the paper I roll over and fall back asleep.