Location: Home- Bathroom
Time & Day: Monday - 5:37 pm
Mood: Stereotypes & Milestones
It’s at that moment, when the morning’s bathroom mirror, offers the type of reflection that lost essences of your soul feel obliged to pay homage to, anyhow the refection sees fit.
It’s that sleep in your eyes; it’s that not enough sleep, acutely so denying slumber the peace to live a dream. It’s the leaky tap silence, and the shaky plumbing before this diamond in the rough, and that mundane day ahead in the soiled bullshit that is sin City becomes yet again.
The crux is where was I when the negotiations of the terms of my arrangement were being thrashed out, this £25,900, minus insurance/tax the poultry £20,993, £1,749 every month, £404 per week, £80.80 per day, £12.45 an hour and never has the dispirited price of celestial compunctions seemed so cheap.
Yeah; the convoluted man in the mirror shit, meekly defined in a way only a naked body offers an instant insight into every morning the custom is run-through. It’s a thought.