The stench of stale cigarette smoke is strangely soothing, in a degenerate way. The air temperature is at acceptable levels thanks to a rain which raged a few hours ago. Some people like the rain. I hate it.

Life is as usual as it comes. Always at the same juncture, knowing not what the fuck next to do. Crossroads seem to be popping up at every turn. This is inspite of my being apparently 'content' at my current settings.

I think I had read somewhere that, had man been content from day one of the dawn of the human age, we would still be foraging for berries along with the chimps. Because we are always pissed, we 'progress.' Why am I preaching?

Today it rained for a long time. Me and Shyam thought that god was pissing on us. Earlier we were preparing smoodles in the dark, prior to the vodka and the kings, when he noticed around five ants scurrying on top of the dry noodle strands, which were slowly sinking into the boiling water. Possessed, we watched them drown and die.

Heck, I didn't care if the ant was a good ant or a bad ant. One thing was sure. They were dead ants. That crapper Crom is pissing on me too frequently. I gota bite him where he hurts; I draw my inspiration from the ants. Die fighting they say. But in the end, die die die. I wish I could close my eyes tonight and never wake up ever.

Would that be death? Or something in the twilight zone?