Shytizo and the Noxious leaf.
A wise man by the name of Bryan Madeira once told me twice.
Suffering from the DT's in intervals his entire life.
Slanted eyes, poisoned eyes worn out from years of glossed over abuse, peering from the soul of a withered man they spoke to me.
HE spoke to me.
"Josh, and i've told you this before, you have to learn to live normally before you can ever be extraordinary."
extra ordinary? i thought to myself. Isnt that a true picture of how difficult i can make things seem.
I heard a voice out of the corner of my ear "yeah those fucking pornos make fucking tons of money like the guys who film it and shit"
It was his favorite mexican side kick. His temporary comrad with a knack for cooking scum for scum. They met at Brians favorite black hole in the wall bar. I replied "true man thats some true shit." I didnt want to make him feel less inferior than he already did. Nothing against mexicans or booze, really an epic combination. Sue me for the stereotype.
But anyways.
He said his goodbyes quickly, almost shamefully, walked into his sillouhette cast only by the entrance to the front office and that was that. A shadow trailed him in suffocating regret from the opposite cleansing daylight effect. Mexico gave me a handshake that day which was surprisingly admirable. Madeira, well he's always been on his own.
Suffering from the DT's in intervals his entire life.
Slanted eyes, poisoned eyes worn out from years of glossed over abuse, peering from the soul of a withered man they spoke to me.
HE spoke to me.
"Josh, and i've told you this before, you have to learn to live normally before you can ever be extraordinary."
extra ordinary? i thought to myself. Isnt that a true picture of how difficult i can make things seem.
I heard a voice out of the corner of my ear "yeah those fucking pornos make fucking tons of money like the guys who film it and shit"
It was his favorite mexican side kick. His temporary comrad with a knack for cooking scum for scum. They met at Brians favorite black hole in the wall bar. I replied "true man thats some true shit." I didnt want to make him feel less inferior than he already did. Nothing against mexicans or booze, really an epic combination. Sue me for the stereotype.
But anyways.
He said his goodbyes quickly, almost shamefully, walked into his sillouhette cast only by the entrance to the front office and that was that. A shadow trailed him in suffocating regret from the opposite cleansing daylight effect. Mexico gave me a handshake that day which was surprisingly admirable. Madeira, well he's always been on his own.