Ticking ticking. Torture. Time lives in a frozen melon and the ground won't defrost. I spend my days waiting for my nights so I can spend my nights waiting for my days and twenty more times doing this doesn't seem like a lot but it sure is, it sure is.

I've become a half-way house for slacking nicotene. A vodka processing plant. A watching, twitching waiter of days, then nights, then days, then nights.... Twenty more times.

A pack of cigarettes.
A tank of gas.
A bleacher seat.

A pack of cigarettes.
And me waiting.

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