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Originally posted by sebastian_dangerfield
The day always starts shitty on the train, where I'm faced with decrepit, sagging, stained, wrinkled, rotted, festering, cancered, crippled, beaten, dejected reminders of the shit highway we all face...

How's that?

But it gets better...

I usually feel better once society is removed from my view. I can sit behind my computer, take calls from jackasses and read about what The Prince has fucked up this week. Occasionally, a whole lotta people die somewhere, and it forces my gaze from The Shit. Yes, in a twisted way, reading about a tragedy is an escape... beats bickering with dickheads, no?

But I take my check, hop back on the train and, do it again. Repetition. Boredom. Drudge work for the money... the modern condition... No way to fight it. I like to eat well. Gas is pricey.

I should have died of that blow induced heart attack I had senior year... I looked out over the ocean and thought, "Fuck, this will be a terrible end..." No. No it wouldn't have been... But what the fuck did I know? I was just another asshole kid who never thought "work" would ever really happen to me... Whatever. Who am I kidding? It was a panic attack... I wasn't dying. God had way more punishment in mind for me...

A bullet in the head? I'd love one every now and again. But I don't have the guts. Now, if I could hire someone to take me out at a time when I wasn't expecting it... when I got too old... I might not mind that. Anything to stop this maddeningly dull life.

Dropped with one slug from a high powered rifle I never saw coming - my brains all over a pack of worthless slugs around me trudging from the train.

That I could hack. Just gimme five more years to try to do it myself with liquor.

Sebastiani, I love you to death and you are perhaps my favorite poster, besides Penske (2!) but I gotta say, this disaffected, HST-lite schtick is getting a little weary. I mean, by all accounts, you lived a blessed life.