1 Drunken, stumbling across the floor of a low-lit dive bar on a Thursday night — there to repeat the same hollow ceremony, compulsively raising one Budweiser to my lips after another, an almost neurotic fixation, an instinctive twitch against the tedious thick air of the same small group of friends, the same circular conversation, the same suburban air — I shoved myself inside the restroom, lurched towards the urinal and splayed my limbs in an X shape against the wall, pissing dangerously hands-free with my cock delicately balanced atop the zipper hole in my pants, maneuvering my pelvis slightly so as to orient the stream.
i get it
I have yet to read anything in which oracles are even remotely useful.
P.S. In case you haven't done this, one day you might be desperate enough to talk to the crazy homeless guy. Do not.