Thursday, September 20, 2007

The Price of Rage

It’s a $1.58 for an extra-large coffee, allowing me, for just pennies really, to pour hot-caffeine onto the already-hotly hotted hotness of the fiery furnace-itude of my fury; the psychic price, however, is much higher...incalculable, even, as I’ve found that I’ve been talking to myself in parking-lots all over Hammertown.
Well, it’s less "talking" to myself than angrily muttering and wildly gesticulating - I saw my own reflection in a coffee-shop window and my frown was so acute that my eyebrows looked to have been eating my face; like a sleek, black duo of Pac-Men, my intensely-angled eyebrows were munch, munch, munching away at my mug, and I got looks that varied from "appalled" all the way over to "frightened"...or was that revulsion?
Regardless, the word of the day is "incommunicado"; I feel a million-miles away today, and it’s not like me to feel so detached...even ordering coffee feels like I’m yelling through a haze of brainsickness & nearly-opaque cotton-candy to get heard.
That would, however, explain the looks I’m getting, wouldn’t it?

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