12

It's been too long.

In fact, I had long burned my calendar due to the fact that I couldn't stand the notion of the same days on it. It was always the first of the month. It was always the same year. I loved it at first, because I fucking hate shit that changes constantly, which is why I don't chew bubble gum. Of course, this same logic doesn't apply for food or cigarettes, because I wrote the rules, and you can kindly take a royal fuck off a building and land on a genetically deformed puppy dog.

Getting up is the hardest thing to do. I must've been hit from behind or some shit, because as it stands I have a knot in my head the size of a oak tree. I looked around at my surroundings and frowned. This is no place to sleep, I though. Not in this alley. Then I recognized that it was in fact my alley that I had bought from a group of Native Americans when I was born, which pissed me off even more because I could have sworn I had bought the protection clause that came with this motherfucker.

I didn't have time to point fingers I had to get my bearings. I figure that if I could stand for more than 5 minutes, I'd be set to continue on where ever the fuck I was headed, which was back to whatever I owned, had bartered for food, had traded for a box of telephone wire, had put in the paper for someone to haul away no charge, had hoped for the best when Christ died.

Someone needs to clean this alley up. Strewn along the walls was the usual assortment of trash that you'd find in an alley, but for some fucked up reason, the alley continue in an infinite direction either way.

I figure I could either get walking, or maybe by some strange miracle I could construct an airplane or helicopter or shotgun from the strewn trash and take a shortcut.

Who was I kidding. I hate airplanes and helicopters. That, and I had other things to do, like wait for the bastard to hit me over the head again so I could awaken as a hummingbird.