Thoughts on the train home.

Sometimes you become tired. Tired of the monotony. Bending over to tie your shoes might as well be a hike up a mountain. Bags under your eyes, hoping for one over your head, collecting bags within bags from grocery shopping. You forget about grocery shopping. And you try to make the best out of any situation you’re in, lest it be spilled milk. But as Big Daddy taught us: throw headlines over the puddle, considering the words that take up the pages. You try to be happy. Maybe making money for someone else is enough, and then again, maybe it affords you enough to not give a fuck. Maybe it is enough for you to find your troubles at the end of the bottle. Cover the bottle with paper. You have enough plastic bags at home.


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