Time slips through my fingers, time lost in foolish things, wasting precious moments away with the futile and insignificant.
And millions of cigarettes, gallons of vodka wash the landscape, veil my face from those around me, give me an escape. But never sick, never ill, never drunk.
A strange pattern of the night. Every night's the same. The scenarios are different, the people change, the time is wasted in different futilities...but the theme is the same, the vodka is always there, the cigarettes are always close by...
Is this a sort of mirror? What mirror of reality is this? Why recurring? Such strange fabrications...
Nonsense?