nonsense
the fucking chariot rider of the end times is rolling up to the window while you try to stay lucid long enough to remember where the buttons moved this month on the fuckin touchscreen and xe's fucking asking for some kinda 23 pumps of vanilla and whip cream in xer tiny fuckin cup. The TV's going on in the next room about how to measure the economy purely in the unit of the twin towers with a lot of concerned looking people. These are times of uncertainty. You still don't know if you are gonna try to actually put some coffee in that, you're weighing your realities.