She smoulders through fits of existence.
She’s in the McDonald’s bathroom, attempting to entice beauty into her hungover manifestation. She can’t even recall the previous night in its entirety. Hazy moments are strung together, not in chronological order, and not always making sense.
She’s a commodity, available for purchase. Drinks, flattery and craftily invested time form the currency of the transaction. It’s an unspoken agreement, and she never fails to uphold her end of the bargain.
Wow. I am so glad I’m old now, 47 years and that stuff is all gone, replaced by security.
Love it
Not enough artists reflect on commercialism and the workplace. Nice!
Putting this link on every page, so please don’t take it the wrong way.
http://www.youthbeyondblue.com/