Blue’s Monday

When the sunlight made a split through dark, heavy curtains, he spread the capes on his fuzzy eyeballs and rolled over, peeling and peeking into the day before him, and rose to his feet, plopping from his bed to the dust caked floor below him.

He knelt, then stretched bones into an isosceles, and unrolled a pink tongue onto the sky, and with it hanging like a little magic carpet, he pissed onto the carpet, the fourth time in two days, thinking to himself, damn it feels good to be a gangster puppy.

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