I’m not sure what makes these people move but I’m certain their work will be adored by the overseeing creators who designed their growling insecurities... I mean... I need a back scratch but anything warm is fine.
Stepping back, I look deep into the weak demeanour of a greying gentlemen: I contemplate the sales opportunity and decide to use his obvious lack of authority as an excuse to welcome my own personal grievances. Being convicted to one-liners and quiet remarks, I’m playing to the crowd at this point; just spewing insight into my unprincipled rituals. I plead, “Use your anger and depression as motivation or possibly a weapon”.
Turn two days forward and I’m apologising to the people who feed me (again). Nothing too personal but enough to secure another three weeks of paid ignominy (I hope)...
Here now : another week later and I’ve succeeded in further establishing my virtues among the other worker bees, and just like these damn pigs on Pink Street; I’m almost okay.
Forward again, half a week later and I’ve destroyed everything I cherish. I have nothing but continuous work in my life (everything else left when it all got too much). I’m so hollow now and I don’t even care. All I wanted was to spend time being happy and now it’s too late. I regret not being a better man and I regret not being a better friend. Why can’t I have fun? Why is every day exactly the same? I thought I wanted people who could help me through my suffocation but I didn’t want a slaves. I’d rather friends who just sit there... sharing my experiences and enjoying the journey : I didn’t want this. I lost my everything and tomorrow I’ll get to work and take anything I want; nothing matters now.
Build your walls : Being the good guy is too hard.