An impoverished linguist, a daydreaming astronaut, and a documentary filmmaker ponder a difficult moral situation.
my grammer wasnt poor, i just couldnt really be bothered to use all the extra embellishments that english insisted me on using. it seemed right now that, that was not paramount.
"Aren't you supposed to be a writer or something?"
'no, im actually a ling--'
"You sure don't spell like one."
'yes, i know bu--'
how he could read my stream of conscioussness, i dont know.
and there was the stupid, stupid spaceman staring out that bloody window. caught in some idiot reverie of his. i felt eversoslightly sorry for him, in his corny spacesuit - probably overheating from the thick shiny stuff which reminded me of the insulation installed in my room.
"So, what now?"
'i dont know, you decide'
this other guy seemed to be of equal annoyance to mr dreamy (dreamy in a literal way, not theotherkind). his two o'clock works about how insects go about deflowering each other were just as obnoxious as his face. i didnt understand why people insisted on being so annoying.
"Hey, dreamy."
"..."
"Hey."
"..."
it seemed like i was at the end of a feature length film, you know - how they show the end at the start sometimes?
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