It’s cold, my nose is dry. A text woke me at five something. It was a thank you reply to a message I’ve sent sometime yesterday. Plus somebody’s birthday, which was yesterday, sends me into the past right now. Only on the screen of my PDA. I have hardly done any of the work I had planned to complete over the weekend. Have I mentioned it’s cold?
It calmed down the hysterical traffic and less to none horns could be heard. Cars were like tip-toeing. I was lagging behind, the calmest of all and well tired, taking my time in the heated seat, in the music of the perfect car sound system, with my license plates from not around here. The occasional traffic bully would recklessly speed by. I guess snow doesn’t work on everybody, reminding me of those daddy’s boys, their girlfriends authentically impressed or just scared shitless next to them in the front seat, beginners drivers with an edge cutting sharp through the night and traffic lights. Daddy’s paid for the car, daddy’s gonna pay for the scratch too, unless that scratch is fatal.
If I am not having sex, does it then mean I am only trying their beds?
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