I’M LOOKING AT myself in the mirror.
What I’m not seeing is a trim youthful 24-year-old version of myself.
What I’m really seeing is a 52-year overweight old man.
He isn’t smiling back at me.
It’s more a peculiar look.
A riddle is written on his face.
He’s cynical.
He’s jaded.
He’s fed up.
He’s on a mission not to get fucked over.
Moreover, he’s an angry fuck and he says, ‘What the fuck are you looking at?’ And I’m too timid to say I’m looking at an obese fuck.
And he’s too tired to argue the case that he isn’t.
Partnership?
Why not.
