I'm wired and I'm tired and I'm sick of having to make such an effort to walk in a straight line. The blandly elegant surroundings make me feel comfortable and soother as I sit back and sink into familiarity and old glamour. It's occasions like this, when I'm feeling vapid and forgetting details like the day and the time and the city and the point of it all and I wonder where it all went wrong, knowing that I should have known better, wondering why I didn't…..
Why now I have to go out thirty nights in a row trying not to notice that it has started to affect my once fresh image with signs of debauchery and abandon… And I can't decide if I care what people think or not.
Time passed fast. I saw the sunrise. There was a sense of melancholia that shadowed the day's pale horizon. I realise that I don't really want to face consciousness at all.