this morning #331.

this morning, continuing a daily pattern that had lasted for almost four years running, he brewed up a pot of cheap coffee, carried it over to the dining room table & sat down to enjoy it with a typewriter & a pack of winstons. his insistence on starting his day in this way bordered on obsessive but he didn’t care one bit. he truly believed in the aura of it all, the pure sexual energy of a middle-aged man pounding out a tale on a 60’s smith corona. so far, he’d completed the first 1000 pages of his memoir, psychotic psychic karma. though he could not see into the future, he was crazy about destiny so he went with it. it had an air of mystery. sadly, he would never realize that the title was his best writing.