I just spent thirty minutes on the phone with a little man.
A man with little thoughts and tiny, microscopic ideas.
It's a Thursday, it's too early.
His manners were crude. His voice unpleasant, and his dreams short-sighted.
From this and the words we shared, I gathered that his wife is equally tiny; equally short; equally moronic.
I don't enjoy saying it but this man and this woman - well, I hope they slowly dissolve in their own inadequacies, in their own horrible yearnings until they are dust and they float away.
As dust they are more useful, more pleasant.
It's Thursday, it's too early.