Death of the reader.

All I can hear is the incessant drone of a tween who’s convinced she’s all that, but I don’t really know how to tell her the truth, she’s a really annoying young twat.

As I sit with me food, I’m now staring to think that my patience is wearing real thin. So I lower my head and tuck into me chips or I’ll punch this cunt square on the chin.

Watching people walk by, on a Sunday with me criticising the losers and winners, all those shoppers who’ve come to the metro instead of staying home and preparing their dinners.

Now my day has been steeped in adventure and mirth, at the plight of societies death. Lets be honest for once, no one cares what I think, I’ll complain till I draw my last breath.

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