Book: Waste paper. Page 1

We waited and waited. Together. Does not know whether the psychiatrist, waiting is one of those things that drive people crazy? All my life people expect. Waiting for new life, waiting for death. Waiting in line for toilet paper. Waiting in line for the money. But if there is no money waiting in queues for longer. Wait, when will fall asleep, and then wait for when you Wake up. Waiting for marriage and waiting for the divorce. Waiting for rain, waiting for it to end. Waiting for food and then again waiting for the food. Waiting in a doctor's waiting room with the lunatics and fear that you
one of them.

Well what can I say? On earth billions of women, right? Some look normal. Most look decent. But from time to time nature throws room: it produces a very special woman, an incredible woman. That is, you see, and you can't believe. The swaying waves of ripe, mercury, snake bend, you see an ankle, you see an elbow, you see Breasts, you see a knee, and it all merges into a whole huge alluring, and beautiful eyes are smiling, the corners of the mouth slightly lowered, but his lips folded as if she's going to laugh on your helplessness. And they know how to dress and their long hair harness air.

Worry when worry over nothing. And when there is reason to worry about getting drunk.

Sometimes I looked at my hands and saw what could become a great pianist or something.
And what did my hands? Scratched eggs, wrote checks, tied h-c, lowered the water in the toilet, etc. I Missed your hands. And brains. I was sitting in the rain.

Take movie stars: they skin ass and prizhivlyayut to face. On ass skin wrinkles after all. Recent years they dohazhivayut with buttocks instead of faces.

She stood up and walked out. Never in my life have I seen such a ass. Defies description. Not be anything. Don't bother me now. I want to think about it.

Madness is relative. Who defines the norm?

I once mixed up, stared at her feet. Legs for me - the first case. That's the first thing I saw when I was born. But then I tried to get out. Ever since I strive in the opposite direction, but without much success.

The definition of a decent neighborhood: a place to live you can't afford it.

The best periods of life - those when you're not doing anything, but just think about it, reflect. Let's say you've decided that life is meaningless, then it is not quite pointless, because you recognize the senselessness of it, and your awareness of senselessness almost gives it sense. Understand what I'm saying? Optimisticheskii pessimism.

Take, for example, Christmas. Yeah, take it the hell out of here.

I sometimes listened to your liver, but my liver was speechless, she never said, "Stop, you're killing me, and I'll kill you!" If we had talking livers, we wouldn't need alcoholics anonymous.

The fly was still crawling around on the table. I rolled up "Program runs", slapped at it, missed. Bad day. And week. And month. And year. And life. Damn it.

Hell is what you want.