It was a long day, worrisome and weary. The sun rose early and fried my senses. My eyes were ringed and forlorn. Dread dwelled within my stomach. Concern bent my back. But overseeing it all was the mind-numbing fatigue. Such a strong fatigue. Such a slow, roasting torture.
The afternoon was warm, windy, and more relieving than the morning. Yet it was full of sad choices and awful remorse. It bled by slowly; it ran through the streets. And there was pain everywhere I looked.
The day is over now, and the sun has set. Night's soothing anonymity has fallen once more. It is a time when the world's overwhelming woes are put on hold, a time when cold beer washes the blood away, cauterizes wounds, and reinstitutes equilibrium. It is a time when the long day's poison filters through the shiftless memory and becomes harmless.
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