Did you ever have one of those days, when you wake up at 4am, and can’t get back to sleep. So, you work awhile, then shave, and–as getting older dictates–you run the razor around the ear, thinking of your uncle on your mother’s side with the ear-muffs, that aren’t actually. And you nick yourself–the smallest of cuts–and then it won’t stop bleeding for, like 3 hours.
And you leave the house, with a wad of tissue stuffed in your ear, wishing you had time for a nap, and drag ass all the way to the car–and realize you forgot the car key. And you call your self a few choice names, and think to yourself; “Who the…heads to the car without their car key?”
And you stomp back up the stairs–and in stomping–the draw of cold air makes you realize that you never zipped actually your fly. And you wonder, who doesn’t zip their fly–between the ages of, like 6, and 85? (The guy with the bloody tissue stuffed in his ear, that’s who)
Then, when you arrive at the top of the stairs, the door won’t open–and you think to yourself–who the hell goes MONTHS without fixing the front door.
Hello, my name is Scott Plath. If you should find me wandering aimlessly…
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