Tonight all the faces I’d seen were completely forgettable.

They could have all morphed into the faces of crash test dummies and it wouldn’t make a damn difference to me.

It always amazes me that these people never stop talking.

Are their lives so full and interesting?

Are they poets that can dress every moment with a beautiful coat of words?

Are they compulsive talkers who must talk about every single thing that happened to them or run the risk spontaneous combustion?

I never could settle on an answer

On nights like these I come back home angry, for the sole purpose of such expeditions is to collect material that can keep me occupied until sleep takes over and maybe, on exception, after I wake up the next morning.

And tonight I couldn’t even manage that. I only came back with dirt.

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