This isn't any kind of proper misery. All this nonsense, all this noise. Random noise. Floating heads talking as they lift up on strings. Rising into the stratosphere on the buoyancy of their own hot air.

Oh how I loathe them.

Always above me looking down.

And me with my bb gun, and two cataract eyes.

Out in the dunes of Los Olivos you can see only clouds at night. Fearful mists that billow up and obscure the heavens. After a while, you forget it's even there. I gave up years ago.

Wandering into small taverns to drink. The dirt and filth used to bother me, now I scrape my fried eggs off those darkened surfaces and shovel them right in between my bristled lips. I can't be bothered to shave anymore. Can't be bothered to wash my old torn and weary clothing.

You should wear the filth like a badge. Cleanliness just distances you from the beings truly capable of love.

The concrete glistens with the sweat of the cloud. I skate upon it. People gaze at me and look away. There's nothing worth robbing on this guy they figure. Yeah, aren't I the clever one. I've converted everything of value I've ever had into memories and dreams.

Night falls. The sun chases it away. Over and over. Meanwhile the radiation cooks me. I change again and again. But something lingers. Always the agony. Always the regret of misplaced ambition.

What the hell must all those dogs and beggars think? What about the young girls or the middle-aged men? You'd think I'd know, at one time I've either been or slept with all of them. But it's still a mystery. Every time I evolve the only constant is that I remain a creature without understanding.

The door slams. Somebody's here. Some quiet, desperate soul who has no concept of all the greatness they're missing out on. All the raw beauty that swirls around them at the core of every heart-stopping micro-second. They walk agonizingly on, in a foul mood for the poor hand they've been dealt.

Ingrate.

Everyone.

The bottle brushes my lips. So cold and foreign, so warm and familiar. A bead of saliva seals it to my mouth. I drink.

The sky dims once again. My eyelids get heavy.

One more day and no closer to salvation.

Oh well, the bottle still loves me.

The End

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