I am tired. I sit here with my companion, I shall call him Grape Cream Slush, and I fight back the advance of gravity. Gravity that attempts to close my eyelids like an old garage door opener that is about due to be replaced. Slowly and in fits and starts. I clear my throat. I sound like an old man sitting in the waiting room at the Geriatric Outreach Center who has spent a lifetime shouting out his bets at the racetrack and chain smoking. It's a living. I regret a lot of things I have done in my life. I also regret lots of things that I did not do. Regret is like an old pair of underwear. It's faded and torn and you should throw it away, but it's comfortable so you keep it around. Some times I fancy myself a poet, and then other times I know better...
as always I am David...
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