Saturday Morning
What do you do, when you are not depressed nor sad nor in a state of abject desperation, but just tired? When you know your life is good and the stars have smiled on you but you can’t smile back? Because the world is not gray and the colors are all there, but you just don’t care about them? When all the drugs and all the words and all the music are not enough to make sense? What do you do in one of these impossible mornings when life and death seem like a bad joke?
Evil, but in a nice way.


