Having breakfast in an spotled kitchen, and smiling early in the mornig, with a stupid fake family who laughing of all of my jokes; even some inappropiated, including references to the Pope and kiddy rapers.
No mortgage or bills, even no credit cards debts, time deposits grow up and a cute apartament steel-concrete made of, in the eleven floor, showing shining windows to the Jersey Street, Hillaway's Avenue or Frozen Lake Park.
Receiving sympathetic letters, five-to-five golden cards, ending with smart and kindless quotes of my favorites writers and a elipthical caligraphy... "Have a nice day, sir".
Also, the postman always smiles, and shows some kind of luxury no-ofensive homo atraction under his inmaculated mask of tedium.
There's also a neighbourhood in my fantasy, I continue tell Tangerine, and it's a middle sized town typical block. Middle people, with middle ambitions and dreams too. But, in my dream, I got to tell ya, we enjoy it. We love it!. Yeah, people are such happy with all his middle jobs, middle marriages and middle crisis as a dog gnawing a bone. What a nasty such of life we have, don't ya?
I tell you, I wanna live my own fantasy, just in a break of an evening show program with some idiot dressed in a lounge suit who says "Don't touch the dial..." or some other stupid thing like that.
Tangerine, my old grey-eyed friend dressed in white and yellow today, just stop listen me. He ask me about my life... By the way, why people don't stop ask me about this? It's this some kind of universal non-enthropic joke?
Well, I start tell him, apathy no longer works, missing my own lost youthfulness and having sex with desperates thirty-some girls who still think they're in time for prize-giving. Do you can realize this?
I tell, you, man. One of this days I just grab my 9mm and... you know.
Coz... sometimes I just want to put a glorious bullet in the world's head.
Sonaba: Archive - Sleep