i worked my guts out. a bad expression for a hooker or a proctologist to use. a 24hour gym can only fill so much time in hours an insomniac isn't sleeping. when you have insomnia everything is a copy of a copy of copy and you treat everything as much respect as you would treat anything disposable. after all, there will be another along any minute now. i'm talking about humans here.
fuck it. chuck it. take it's cash and hope it had a good time.
that hope lasts until the door closes behind you. by the time you are in the lift trying to figure out which fucking button is the lobby that hope it gone. your only concern is trying to find a reflective service the check to see if there any stray shots of spunk on your face and frantically swipe it away before the doors open. you're out on the busy street and you've forgotten who they are sometimes wondering if you remembered to grab the cash and subtly fingering which one of your pockets you stuffed the $100 bills into
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