Pig face at the break of dawn

 I'm in a so-what-if kind of a mood. There is nothing and I'm okay with that. Just gliding along a plane of numbness, like a low-slung snow-king whose only crystals are the frozen water he holds sway over. 

Yoda was wrong. Do or don't do; it doesn't really matter. In that kind of space, you're wide open to experimentation. Tilling the ground for diamonds or interesting rocks. Either are interesting. One is interesting to kings, the other to professors. So what if.

Jack's friend said girls come and go. He was bored with the whole process at that point. Jack who was only yet to be initiated and would later become a drunkard believed his car-thieving friend. 

Pillaging new ground had become battle-worn and torn up and unfriendly as anything else in life, and now he just enjoyed making things difficult for himself and that included dramatic break-ups. 

And that is how it is when you're poor. Everything becomes a ritual and an event that has one aim: Proving that you're actually rich. That you're capable of making anything into a kind of wealth. 

Despite expectations. I have something called pig-face. it's the Caucasian condition.