the sun, like razers slicing through my tiny hangover. he suddenly yanks down the blinds, but it's too late.
the sun, that fucking sun, the best of me and the worst and these sounds on this particuclar morning here remind me of college street in the spring. trucks and streetcars, rumbling past my stupid, gigantic bay window, but then i didn't have blinds. just wispy white curtains meant to soften my days as i wake, instead i am punched in the face with the recycling truck, and then portugese women yelling two floors down. i'm lazy and unsure.
i'm still unsure.