The general descriptor for a large proportion of a largely disproportionate amount of mountings that sum up the unsummable content of living the daily death is somewhat akin to humping dead frogs: life is wet, squishy, and very questionable until you stop and think about it. But the fact that you must is probably why you shouldn't.
It's four years ago in my head, and frankly, I don't know that it's such a good thing. Some people like furry rodents, others hate them, I just love the one that bears my mark.
The quest to complete the quest just so you can see the end of the show and go, "wow, that was fun, but sure as fuck not going to want to watch that again." It rises out of the muck and dredge and poop that is the offal of an overweight velvet moose; that is to say, when the packaging is that pretty, nobody cares about the inside.
To speak about coin, while I now possess the means of tracking every single fragment of wealth I control, the ease by which I do so only serves to reinforce how little of it I have. The season of solar punishment is soon upon us, and without an indoor location to finance my position, it gets increasingly difficult to just get by existing. As luck would have it, I find just enough of forgotten money on the streets to give a chipper day, but not enough that I don't have to worry about summer work.
A rabbit beckons, in the lovely fluffy adorable way, and it only just occurs to me how absurd it is to put a leash around a rabbit.
