Morning blogging is my specialty. I feel energized with a little coffee. When I say a little, I mean a lot. I always drink half the pot. To drink the whole pot would be a crime because there are two of us tangoing at this time.
Nighttime blogging is the coming unhinged like a rusty gate on a cocaine binge. My coffee pot has long stopped pouring but per milligram of blood my alcohol is soaring.
In the morning I like to read the news. In the evening I like to drink the booze.
In the morning I fiddle with logic and reason. In the evening I’m enervated for billions of reasons. Billions of reasons; that’s a lot. Did I use the semicolon in the right spot? Probably not.
Why am I so tired at night? Cause I took a knife to a sheep gunfight. Billions of sheep like the walking dead are walking around with earbuds in heads.
It’s a dream, Sheep, wake up! Until it’s not. Someone took my parking spot.
That special someone is not one but a personification of everyone. But they don’t know a secret about me. I have a friend at the DMV.
“Friend, can you run a plate for me? ABC 123?”