Money Work Money Work Money

First day: Gone. Taken. By a cousin. No money, no job. All the time in the world. Cue bravado. World-building steadily improved. There is joy in sadness. The cough is here to stay.

Coke. Cola, cola. Zero family. The slut of a sister. Rediscovery. The job is mandatory, masturbatory. Questions, more questions, more questions than answers with questions.

Snore, yeah, yeah. Come back. Respond to me. Lost you.

Miss you.

Sorry.

Sad. My memory of you eating a burger fighting. That's not the way to live a life, to strengthen the relationship. 

Where do we find you, sweet thing that provides us with anything, everything? Food, clothing, gears, stuff, yada. Green, green grass of home. Then you get a wedding -- a red wedding -- and I click just to like it.

Let's make business. Get filthy rich. Poor people in a rich country giving money to rich people in a poor country. The theory, we shall walk it. Fire walk it.

Let's walk and walk. Tent.

Let's walk.

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