i don't recognize you anymore. /roman
i'm tired, roman, and i really don't have time for this.
you don't have time for anything anymore.
because i'm a busy man, ha-- have you seen the name on the door? the job title? have you noticed anything strange about the sheer fucking volume of people who come in and out of that door, or the fact that i spend sixty percent of my time on the phone to the joint chiefs? i don't have time for this.
you're not the only one with responsibilities. i'm trying to talk to you about --
yeah, okay, i get it.
no you don't. you really don't.
in a triumph of the middling, a nod to mediocrity, and with gorge rising, it gives me great nausea to announce that the world is simply paling in comparison to your love life and whatever new easily solved problem that's come up in your schedule today. i give hope to the millions.
there's a pause. a long one.
roman --
i don't recognise you anymore.
yeah... join the club. it's packed right up to the bar.















