wherever you go, there is the thing you just looked at.
he has been run over by the toothpaste train that hunts you in the morning. scabs overpower you as you try to wake up but you fail. the orange juice hunts the pain in your stomach, it sluices and juices until it reaches your very pits. there it sits and stinks and rots away in the darkness until your walls can absorb the smell and make your muscles pretend your brain is on their side.