Heat, profound fucking heat. Sweat, greasy sweat. Clinging on, like some gum. It can make you puke. The real you. Hidden somewhere in the grand fortress created. Looking for something. For something more than just life. But things are dim. Chances are low. Very damn low. Head is heavy too. Too fucking heavy.
I don’t have a big head like you think you have. I have those mid shaped ones with limited intelligence. But I have the gift. The gift to entertain. The gift to set a party to life. The gift to be loved but not really loved at all.
Yes I have a nice body. The kind of body any middle aged man would envy. But things are dim and I am tired. I am hired and I am tired. Every other person is hired but to be hired like this is too bad. Not many words to describe how I feel. People say let the money come and then you move away. But my regulars keep paying more. And with the money their looks degrade. Sometimes I need drugs to keep me going. Someone truly said they are never satisfied.
It’s all dim. I am writing my suicide note and I can’t get any more than two fucking lines. Isn’t that pathetic, or is that great? Told you I had a medium sized brain with limited intelligence.
So here goes.
“I a call boy or whatever you call my kind of men and I am damn tired so I might as well die