this morning #721.

this morning, he hurried through the station, drunk on confidence but sober in his desire to defy whatever the bleep society’s sheep wanted from him. in charge of his own damn destiny, thank you very fucking much. sharp blue suit. clean-shaven head. smart soul patch. as far as anyone could tell, he was put together well. just below the surface though, a slow-simmering hatred for most human beings festered. most of the time, these short, squat sloths were only there to get in his way, slow him down. today was not destined to be the day that their existence drove him over the edge. that day would finally come two tuesdays from now. when it did, he’d still look like a million bucks.