The Bloody Doors Off

What the fuck am I even doing here?

Graphic designer, playwright, occasional asshole

When the spoons march to power, don’t say I didn’t warn you

Harold’s digging around the back of my head.

I’m throwing up blocks.

Keeping him out.

Deep breaths.

It’s gonna be okay.

Three days.

And a new chapter begins.

With teeth I’m not afraid to eat corn on the cob.

Gonna be a long three days.

Sure.

Waiting always feels longer.

Did Einstein ever work that formula out?

Hawking?

I could use a distraction or two.