Wes, Weh.

I’m wrestling with this bloody book.
It pulls me in close so it can land blows inside my guard, I know they’re coming and shutting one eye and making a “trying to crack a brazil nut with my teeth” face doesn’t help at all.
Despite everything I keep admiring the moves, but then I force myself to remember that I know at least two people who think that the moon landings were faked which is just like the strongest of smelling salts to me and I snap back into the chair. Or more likely pillow, as that’s where the majority of the book is being viewed. Although snapping back into a pillow is more metaphorical than physical unless you hover over your pillow. Which is tiring, although being in bed already means that it looks liked you’ve planned for that possibility. So who looks stupid now eh?

2 thoughts on “Wes, Weh.”

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