This is the story of Rip Van Winkle, written because I owed him a cookie. Some of the details have been changed. Some facts have been removed. Fuck, the story has been gutted completely. It doesn't get better than this. Sometimes at night when you feel strangely condescending you're secretly twisting the truth. Maybe you're becoming Rip Van Winkle. You're sleeping and thinking about eating and dreaming about the smoke that floats to the top of the bar room ceilings.
People die like this every day. They sleep because they're wasting time to make it to a big day. I watched a movie today. Two hours. In case you're counting, that would be .000000035% of my projected life span. I'm killing time.
Did you go to work today? Did you bother to get out of bed? I wonder if I slept forever if someone would pay my rent.
Goodnight. I've had enough canned enlightenment.
People die like this every day. They sleep because they're wasting time to make it to a big day. I watched a movie today. Two hours. In case you're counting, that would be .000000035% of my projected life span. I'm killing time.
Did you go to work today? Did you bother to get out of bed? I wonder if I slept forever if someone would pay my rent.
Goodnight. I've had enough canned enlightenment.
i was up to go to work only to not have to go.. paid day off.. yep... still gotta work tonite tho...
if i stayed in bed forever i would hope someone was paying my rent...