Controlled Scribbling

Tuesday 11, 1990

The day was hot and sticky.
The day dragged on like salty snails across my bloodshot eyes.
Where did this day come from?
The winds came softly from the north. The winds did not have enough time or energy to bring a day like this.
The bastard north winds apathetically drifted by not doing a thing to improve the day.
The day was hot and sticky like a priest's unwanted erection. The day persisted implacably as if it planned to last forever.
After it seemed to have lasted for much longer than an eternity, the day's sky began to lose its relentless luster.
After a slow, violent battle the night conquered the day.
The day was gone forever and so began the night.