I'm taken with writing pieces that describe a given day, and i am both
blessed and cursed to remember some interesting ones. Like "the day
they put me to sleep for thirty hours"-anyone would be pissed about
that one. Be a nice man, i tell myself. But i was, with a plan to
sit alone drinking beer, away from it all-just a man and his deformed
imagination, emotions magnified, whims grown to necessities. Thinking
it was just weeks prior that i had a life plan, and then i just sat.
Better to have gotten captured by the nazis, i say in retrospect.
Hell, they wouldnt even need to ask me to crawl into the furnace;
theyd find me there in only my underwear waiting, with that nonplussed
look on my face.