Heck it almost seems like writing

So, postcards are waiting to get approved and the registration card has been approved. I actually didn't need to get approval for the postcards but I didn't feel like printing out 'at least fifty to start' and then hand cutting them to size, so I left them for 'approval.'

I think I've lost faith and I'm no longer bolstered by lust.

If I were smart I would just let that sentence hang there and let some casual reader fabricate it into something profound.

...

He's fifty old years old and heads up the department but he still 'goes to the boys' room.'

...

I haven't been drinking like I used to. It's not that I've given up drinking but I've given up the bar; another bartender left.

I'll look down the bar at the other regulars, five guys over sixty and a 42 year old blonde who has probably seen more cocks than a hundred county fairs. I'm the youngest one sitting and look younger that I am.

They are all nice guys but they mostly just seem to exist. I can remember most of their stories and there are no new chapters being added. I wonder if I'm seeing my future.

The report is gone. No one pouring drinks has been there for more than three months.

I was due for a change anyway.

...

"The second killing was discovered about 6 a.m. inside a three-family residence on Tuttle Street in the Savin Hill section of Dorchester."

That's the closest since I've moved here but that is still on the other side of the bridge. The bridge goes over I-93 and the train tracks. The bridge connects the neighborhood. The bridge divides the neighborhood. I slightly shake my head every time I think that there is actually a wrong side of the tracks.

Society - so shitty.


I'm a bundle of joy.