Who Cares?

No one. That’s who.

It doesn’t matter and it never has. It’s supposed to be something that comes from inside that makes this life worth living. Isn’t it? Some shred of honesty and self-realization that makes me a good man, that transforms me from the beast that I am to something worthy of desire and love?

While I may have lost these things, I believe I once held them as part of who I thought I was and yet it made no difference. I grew uglier.

It’s dusk and, yet, the city refuses to be silenced. The birds have returned to their nests and the white noise of tires clashing on asphalt is omnipresent.

I lay here, in darkness… listening to the jetliners pass overhead; full of people going somewhere to do something.

Me? I just lay here.

Listening.

To the droning of the city.

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About El Jefe

He's been called a despot, a humanitarian, a philanthropist, a dumbass and "one sexy bitch". The bottom line is that it's all true... and it's a full-time gig.

Posted on July 5, 2011, in The desk of the King. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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