The appetite

So many words. Unspoken. Thoughts. Meant to be said. They all roamed through my brain and my fingers.

Speaking of which, slippery fingers I got.

See, I just dropped my last piece of bread covered with some sauce.

What does this tell you about? Well, I'm apparently clumsy with stuff when I get home drunk.
Apart from that, I dropped it on my headphones. All soaked with mayonnaise. I'm definitely not using them tomorrow.

Now, I' chewing on the remnants of that bread. I would say I'm happy. If happy means joyful. Well, then I'm happy. So take a look at me. I'm still 24. I have a life, as they say. Issues I got, issues I solve. But I have bread and mayonnaise. And a place to drop that fucking bread. With mayonnaise. Little things, isn't it. You got to enjoy them.

God, what's the point of all this? Some struggle for daily living and my biggest concern is related to women/ writing. Pathetic. I would love to fight for food. Not like Tesco discounts. As in man-to-man, ultimate showdown, winner takes it all. Losers get shit. See, I'm not that comfort-seeking eventually. I just want to keep on tasting life. Cause at the end, your appetite will judge your character.

All the rest is bullshit.