3.04.2025

My new gag is to pretend I left luxury for squalor. Like I'm an actual refugee. 'The word for yogurt looks weird! God save me!'

I'm just here for the cheap aluminum.

The guy upstairs is tossing and turning and every time he moves it vibrates through all the ceramic in the kitchenette.

When he sneezes it sounds French: achieu.

At a table with posus and the cabinet and he goes to the bathroom and I ask the chief justice, since it’s just this group of us in the room, if we can declare him unfit, like when is too much too much, we all know we need to get rid of the bastard. He smiles like it’s a common question, like it’s something he’s been thinking about himself, maybe talking over with others behind closed doors. He gives me a rambling answer about precedent and asks if I know about the case of Garfield versus Madison or something. Then we’re overrun with anarchist insurrectionists who leave my people alone after tasing a few of us to make it look authentic. Then we’re all watching the city burn from a hill and trying to check the news but the apps are down. We build a big gallows and there’s a long speech and we’re singing together.