These fucking skies, this fucking concrete jungle and all the people with their stupid ugly faces, this whole fucking town should be torn down and burned to the ground. Apathy is provided when the rain falls, rage is brought upon me when the wind starts to blow, and I hate everyone. The sickness in my head and stomach is similar to Denny’s: a constant shit-hole that hardly ever gets cleaned; it’s all one big fucking grand slam.
I know an old homeless man that sits outside of various store locations and asks for any type of help. He has also lived his whole life in this city. However, unlike myself, he is quite optimistic about the blue skies, the paved city of joy, wonder, and excitement. When the rain falls, he sees it as a sign of freedom and hope; when the wind blows, memories pervade from the back of his mind, and a smile starts to form on his dry, sad lips as he reminisces. His outlook on life is similar to Denny’s also: a cheery place that you go to with your best friends, order a hearty stack of chocolate chip pancakes, and smile at the beautiful waitress with the red lipstick, and the nice hair, and that glorious scent that beautiful women always seem to have. He was born here, he’s lived his life on the streets and kept a positive attitude throughout it all. He’s a beautiful man. He will die face down in the street and no one will bother to pay any attention.
This city, this state, this country, this world, this universe is one big giant shit hole with something beautiful hidden in every corner.
This actually isn't a story, it's from my own point of view from my damned-to-hell life in my Wasteland of a town.
I know an old homeless man that sits outside of various store locations and asks for any type of help. He has also lived his whole life in this city. However, unlike myself, he is quite optimistic about the blue skies, the paved city of joy, wonder, and excitement. When the rain falls, he sees it as a sign of freedom and hope; when the wind blows, memories pervade from the back of his mind, and a smile starts to form on his dry, sad lips as he reminisces. His outlook on life is similar to Denny’s also: a cheery place that you go to with your best friends, order a hearty stack of chocolate chip pancakes, and smile at the beautiful waitress with the red lipstick, and the nice hair, and that glorious scent that beautiful women always seem to have. He was born here, he’s lived his life on the streets and kept a positive attitude throughout it all. He’s a beautiful man. He will die face down in the street and no one will bother to pay any attention.
This city, this state, this country, this world, this universe is one big giant shit hole with something beautiful hidden in every corner.
This actually isn't a story, it's from my own point of view from my damned-to-hell life in my Wasteland of a town.
