"Is there a problem here?"
I can't think straight. I can't concentrate. I can't wear clothes. The one day I actually wanted to wear clothes, its too hot to wear them. Soon, the temperatures will bake my brains. Global warming is real. I drove a car today, in search for work. I have no money. I almost got in an accident because I'm sick and wasn't paying attention. The doctor in the emergency room told me I have strep and gave me a Prescription. Where do I fill it? My brains are clouded. If there were a cloud in the sky, maybe it wouldn't be so hot. All my friends have evaporated. I never bothered to saran-wrap any of them and put them in the fridge. My fridge is empty. I have no food. I was going to go to Chicago tomorrow, but that sounds vaguely impossible. It also sounds foolhardy. My caracas needs to travel. I find my inspirations in overgrown lawns. That which is manicured has been reclaimed by the wild. Here we struggle, here we toil, half dead, and yet, alive. Who knows why. Maybe all the shouldn'ts and don'ts were lies to keep us in line. I'm still unemployed. My phone service has been cut off. There are no good jobs. This isn't getting me anywhere. This isn't getting me anywhere.