I must be fucked in the head, even for my standards. I go out for a walk amongst the city crowd to enjoy the crisp winter air and all I can think of is the urge to murder somebody.
My fault entirely. I should have planned to go eat something or at least go shopping, buy something. Neither food or product interested me, instead, I came out for a walk and the fresh air. But without a hefty distraction… who knew how things would pan out?
I pass the little, skinny boy-like women with hand-drawn signposts selling massages. Nope. Gotta stay clear of that. Gotta stop daydreaming before I get smashed by traffic as I cross the road.
Fuck this urge.
A young punk with a pango as wide as his forearm approaches me. It says, I can’t ascertain its gender, “I don’t want your money, just your signature against slave labour, women’s rights….” How many of these empathy drunk creatures have I killed? I smile and act concerned…
…I should have come out with a plan.