A grown man sits, drunk, in the same chair he's been drinking in for almost three years, now.

November 10, 2:47am
He still remembers the day he bought it with the money he borrowed from his best friend atthetime. It's one of his most beloved possessions. This chair has been, probably, the most dependable character in his life; and now he depends on it once again. He must sit here in this little chair of his and pound-out something, must communicate something, like lyrics to a song that he'll either (a) never have enough inspiriation to write, or (b) waste screaming at the sky to be forgotten. These lyrics will go something like this.

and-a-one.
and-a-two.
and-a-onetwothreefour

November 11, 5:04am
Until tonight, I hadn't yet known exactly how accurately the expression "OMFG!!!" could be applied. If only I didn't know now what I didn't know then, I would be a much happier person.

What the fuck. What the fuck. Wha-wha-whawawawa, urgmm-urr-urr-urrmmmm, um, wha? Wait, what? Wha? Wait, what the fuck? Wha? What the fuck just happened? What? Um, whoa. Uhh, whoa. Wait, what? Whoa. Whoa. Wait, what just happened?--And thus sums up the gist of my mind's train of thought of the past hour and a half.

But, seriously, fuck that shit.