No sense of time, just drifting like dour smoke from obligation to obligation. Barely take anything in. Girl comes, girl goes. See the doctor, go to the funeral, greet the family. Make society proud. Beyond this is nothing. I can’t see ahead and don’t want to. I’m neither here nor there and all answers are merely preprogrammed responses to typical questions.
“Thank you. I’m doing fine.”
It all makes me sick. Best not to bother. I see only through a glass darkly now.
-Jack Blare, 2016