How does one know if the job is right? You go on and on, and you haven't fired each other. How does one know if the girl is right? That's just a subset of the first problem. So while I recuperate between meetings, I find myself hurling poetry into a text box... where it travels across straits and seas and mountains only to be read by creatures ancient and droll, dredged up from the earlier days of my youth. Why are we still here? ;)
No comments :
Post a Comment