"That's not," matt was yelling "your water, ron!" from behind my back. "This is my lawn," ron replied defensively as i looked down at the ants building "Yea, that's your lawn, but it's," an empire under the sidewalk. "not your spigot!"
i looked up "I don't take orders from you!" to see the clouds in "Okay, but that's," the sky. they were "not your water, ron!" flat and streaking across the "YOU AREN'T THE BOSS," sky tonight. "OF ME, MATT!" i could hear "RON, STOP USING THAT," the sounds of "SPIGOT! IT ISN'T YOURS! YOURS IS," traffic bustling to "OVER THERE! THAT IS NOT YOUR," and fro out on "WATER!!" third "YOU AREN'T THE," street. "BOSS OF," i turned to walk inside "ME!!! !!!" and am confronted with images of recruits for the Phillippine army being slapped and punched on the television i left on so it could entertain itself because it was making me too sick to keep trying to quit smoking.
What a strange universe i have found myself in, i can't wait to leave it behind.