We are all destine.
Nothing else just destine.
I hate the smell of Mondays. They have an urgency of something yet to be fulfilled. A bitter stench of lateness and the need to catch up holds hand with this stench. It is like the weekend was a different year. A new hope that just as suddenly vanished.
We are all destine.
Destine to what I hear the cries. ‘Nothing!’ I answer sharply. I want this stench to fill my lungs. It’s good for you apparently… ‘That’s what they all say’ I think to myself. Oh for fuck sake. That neurosis ebbing into the physical yet again. Humm… I might go for a walk.
