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.