it doesn’t

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it makes me sad. oh, yes sad. when i see those people and their motors racing by, in an infinite rush. everyday, every hour, while i smoke sitting next to ‘their’ office window. those people keep on rushing while i keep on oozing out the smoke. they vanish away just like the smoke i pull out of my cigarettes vanishes away in the open sky out of the window.


they must have a destination to reach. they must have objectives to gain. otherwise why would they rush?  i wonder if they ever reach there. i wonder if they ever gain those objectives. and stop racing and sit to themselves in peace. because every time i sit there to smoke another cigarette , i find them their. racing.

their rush reminds me that i was also rushing somewhere for something, some time ago. I try to kick start my rational ability to figure out. But it seems that the heat energy emitted by the fire of my cigarette is not sufficient enough, to do the task.  i try to dig in harder on every puff, like bukowski’s chinaski, hoping that it would generate sufficient heat that would kick my brains on.

it doesn’t.

i am not a brave man. i am a regular one with irregular breakdowns and irregular risings. it feels sorry for being one, on such occasions. its so fucking hard to pull up when you all want is to remain just what you are. the attached strings never let that privilege.  

and as a common guy, i linger back to chair. continue nonsense. 
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