Taken in San Francisco, CA

Time passes but is insignificant during this. 2:30 is just an order of numbers, holding no more direction or influence than 5:30 or 10:30. All sense of hygiene is repressed, all sense of responsibility is ignored. Everything inside is casted in blue and white. The T.V. is my only light and I can do anything I need to by it. I kill hours by masturbating to nothing. I only realize it’s night when I step outside for a smoke and I step back in only slightly energized. The couch is a bed. My lap is a table. My head is a storage space rented out and clogged with suppressants. Headaches are pacified by smoking, smoking produces headaches, showering and junk food is a restart button. Downers, painkillers, uppers, poison. I can’t differentiate their effects. I just become a pressure chamber of substances with no real ends to be justified.

– Cincinnati, OH