Legs like jelly-filled stockings

I’m am entirely exhausted. The day has been one big scripted scene, where I move on autopilot.

After work I’d like to have mowed the lawn since it’s started to sprout big flower patches, but I can’t find the key to the shed. I don’t like looking out at acres of wildflowers and dandelions.

The air unit is broken as well, and although it’s under a warranty, the mechanic has yet to have come out to fix it. It’s broiling here.

My feet have imprints all over them from the little pills in my work socks. I love the feeling of peeling off a sock and letting the skin air out.

I think I might shoot the rifle by the creek a little bit. Or maybe nap since I haven’t slept very well.

I have plans to go to my step-cousin’s highschool graduation celebration later. He’s a good guy, but I hope they don’t pray.

Punks can be gentle too. Here’s proof: