Wooden paved floor. Cane chair. I sit cross legged. Loud music and a bar around. How else would I live. That is the norm. With some money to spend, travel and loud beats batch my lifestyle choices.
And yes, sex, the smell the talk the goosebumps, the failures (which must be always be the other person’s fault) as for anybody anywhere, that is there too.
The money – gift for being a jack in the society, flows in its own mood. Time eats away time. Yet from source of soul the call from old insecurities reverberate the character.
Each insecurity comes with a story. Stories that fill my half dreams. Stories that tend to break me down each moment. Stories that build up as on the edge I live on.
Each story a lonely chapter. Yet together they form a manual. A manual of seedy failures that just happened.