I ask myself this question, when I look at the scar, where I pushed a kitchen knife through my heart.
Only to see I am going to be tormented, for the rest of my days, by the people who have stolen my savings, job & future.
They seem to think, I’m here to give them a better life. Maybe they want me to become a Muslim or join the Conservative party. I’ll never figure that one out. I think I want to see them start the riots, where they loot & pillage the shops for new TV’s & film themselves sleeping in Ikea withdrawing from Crack.
Dark times, does not mean, it’s time for a Public Enemy concert. Or does it?
I’m watching cartoons, after a lovely Sunday meal & ready for a super nap.
My Primary Progressive Multiple Sclerosis is their excuse, for a party, I would never attend. Yo on a bart may! Yes, I am.
Monday, I will sit in the town centre & watch the shop lifters. Guessing what country they came from. It’s my new hobby.
Terry is People watching! Maybe I should of dreamed of becoming a superstar DJ, cruising in my low ride, with the volume rattling the windows. Laughing kit bags, with a case of cash at my feet. Fake as fluff.