Bloodshot eyes even more so and a throat scratchier than cats in heat. Suppressions of coughs is at best a futile effort. The eventual respiratory explosions do little to keep a lid on their actions. Nothing like a really heavy and hard dose of premature death to bring about the final weeks of a year long run.
Days pool together into smaller weeks with the end of the contract in sight. A fair distance too close and still too far to think about. Winds brushing through the ears are locking out all sounds. Steps taken in any direction sound off dull thuds within the waters of the brain.
Over one year in total running time and it would be that the body choose to break down now. Understandably, feeding the core with nothing more than scant hours of sleep a day exacerbates the problem.
Far less than enough, six hours a night is close to breaking point. Suffering four is tempting fate.
And zombies are seen walking along the road home past midnight. Hacking and choking as they do.
Saturday, 17 September 2005
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Elemunk scrambles the loose connections bouncing about the mind of Soon Van.
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One, two, spit on your shoe. Three, four, want some more?