Hadn’t planned to climb into the grinding mill again today, the mill I’ve been putting myself through for around twenty years, the mill that grinds and corrodes and tires, the longer it grinds the more weary and sick I increasingly feel. I am wearing myself out until I know not what will happen to me.
He has a pipe coming out of his stomach, a pipe that empties his bladder, a product of a life of drug addiction. He throws his false teeth onto the living room table like the wealthy man tosses his keys.
Saturday 24 July 2010
Sunday 4 July 2010
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