10/9/2007 - Sticky

It's the kind of thing that sticks to your fingers. It clings to the roof of your mouth, gets stuck in the back of your throat. Too damn tired to push past the banged up bullshit, and get down to the meat and potatoes. Ignorance is no excuse. When the high wears off, you'll fall asleep like the rest. I can see your eyes rolling. That shit that gets caught between your toes, when walking on a well watered lawn. That the fucking lights should blink, just so out of time. It's a beautiful day, 57 degrees and sunny.