So you sit in mode of transport, the velvet of the seat cushion pressed against your thighs, it’s almost a turn on if you weren’t so oblivious to it. Those musical moments that ping your pituitary gland, where the radio sings directly to you in some sort of twisted serenade, and you know in those contrived words hold the holy grail of your life. The tattered billboard, left corner pealing off in a near miss of an artistic fashion blasting symbols that could perhaps strike mental images spurning a thousand thoughts; it’s the little things that confirm we are either mad, or can see the future. I opt for going mad, we all wish we could see the future, let's recognize reality, but !hey! that’s just me.
- Me in the oddest most non-emotional mood I recall thus far to date
11:01:27 PM 
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