i have the most spectacular dreams, which are all epic adventures, and somehow every morning i wake up in the same trailor to the smell of burning trash and the sound of parents fighting. i always get up and step on a tack, or trip over a shoe, stumble all the way to the bathroom, which deadly spiders have made home to, and prepare myself a day full of boring events.
i come home to a pile of bills i must pay with the money that i earn from burning my retina staring at crt rays every single day. every now and then i get to see franziska, but not enough to make me happy to wake up in the morning.