I work my menial job and live what others tell me to be a purposeful life. I have enough money to stave off worry for the month, I have an apartment to call home, I have a car to drive me to required destinations, and I have the necessary clothing to gain approval from the people that are in charge of watching over me. But when I pass that homeless person on my way to the liquor store, I’m not sure if I avoid putting a quarter in his cup because I’m cheap, or because I want him to stay free.
(I like these gaylord emo entries on here when I’m too drunk to think straight. Because i still manage to type well but they’re interesting when I read them in the morning. I’m just hamming some slamdog to knock myself out.)