That’s a lie.
I’m not that drunk, but I’m definitely not sober. You know I what I mean. I hope.
One of my neighbors is grilling some kind of nasty meat—the smell is ransacking my nostrils. Damn it. Oh well, such is life, right? The sun is setting and the clouds appear to be bleeding while a silhouette of shadowy trees sprawl across the sky. That’s what I see. I’m getting tired of the clouds. They won’t go away.
What time is it? Doesn’t matter. Each second smears into the next—amorphously unfolding the future.