An exercise in role play.

Genre: Subway guy fiction
Inspiration: NYC

I'm Batshit crazy. People don't know that, they just think it. They assume it. They PREsume it. Exhume it, tume it ploomit!!!!!!

I didn't choose to be here. I didn't say to my mom, "HEY MOM! BE SINGLE! SMOKE CRACK! HATE ME! PROSTITUTE YOURSELF! SHOP AT WALMART! WEAR RAINBOW SOCKS! MAKE ME EAT FOOD FROM A TIN!" Haaahhhahahhahhaaaa. NOT funny. Shit.

Can't read? I DON'T WANT TO READ. It's an angry, twisted, hungry and stupid world. All the time people ask me why I don't get a job. GET A JOB? Where? I once had a park bench ask me to smoke it. And you know what? I DID!

I lit that fucker up! At first I tried to pee on it - my pee was broken. So then I got naked as the day I was born and emptied my bottle on it. My bottle wasn't broken. KABOOOMMM! Worst smoke I ever had.

I wasn't born yesterday. I was born tomorrow!!!!! I'm way ahead of you man. I'm from a world where shirts are made of dirt and shoes are optional. I'm from 3000 asshole. YOU GET A JOB!

Sometimes when I'm warm I can think straight for a few minutes and I begin to understand what people must think of me. I begin to recognize. Theorize, paralyze, pasteurize... TERRORIZE!!!!!!

Smoking that bench made me think, because as my clothes burned things became a little clearer to me: FIRE HURTS!!!! and I could never be a bench dealer - it lied to me, it wasn't a good smoke. NO JOB FOR ME BITCHES!!!!!!! ahahhhahaha.