Middle Man

NAP TIME MOTHERPHUCCERS

You were tired- it was normal though. It was odd when you weren't, when you could spring up out of bed at laugh at Diablo's snappy comebacks and tolerate Angels brattiness and of the like.

You longed for that, unfortunately, no good comes to those who wait- no that sounds off. Whatever, you're too tired to recall the correct version, instead groggily stripping yourself of the tattered blanket and warmth that surrounds you. It's too early, it's always too early. You don't care, grumbling something about groceries and coffee you get into your office uniform, picking a blazer and rushing out of the house; a thermostat of some destructive mix incorporating coffee and an energy drink.

Passing streetlights and familiar signs you slow your pace and look at your watch, only to recall you never had one to begin with, claiming it to be a waste of money. Normally your phone would do, but it was sitting dead in your pocket.

Fucking shit n hell.

You try to remember what's happening, really you do, but your eyes haze over and the train stops. You don't remember getting on; it's a normal occasion―you scamper away. Muscle memory hanging off of you by threads of knowledge. Legs moving dutifully to the thumping of cars and trains. You cross the street and spit out something about how you hate Angels music; that she should keep it fucking down.

Groggy, you enter your office building, waving at your cubicle neighbor. You sit down and chug your monster-drink (if it was a drink that is, maybe it's poisonous, you wouldn't be surprised), and crack your knuckles. Typing until everything slows down and you're numb from tapping on keys. Voices slur together and you stand up―ready to make yourself a cup of coffee.

Time blurs, and you're on a train before you can blink, jumbles of what happened come in bits and pieces. Your boss said something about a raise, maybe a premonition? Really, you're too tired to think about it.

You just want to sleep a little.

Fall into the stars, headfirst. Maybe you'll catch the moon on your way to hell.

You open the door to your apartment, Angel is playing a rock cover of a classical piece that you listen to in your free time.

Dragging your feet across the ground you head to the couch. It's a crappy thing, theres a broken spring and the cushions have sunken in, but you flop bonelessly into it.

When you eyes close, you drift.

Maybe you can stay this far away from the real world forever.