Salwa, Block 4, Street 4

I sit here eyes glazed, watching as the idea aims lassoes at me. Misses. I have never been anything else besides a perfect pendulum, and oscillated between the majority of major decisions. I can't swallow change easy, I just gargle it in my mouth for a while until I'm forced to spit it out or swallow it. Now wouldn't that just make the worst quote if I did something accidental enough to make me famous? Pray forgive my seeming negativity, it really isn't me- but it's a great vent and sarcasm tickles me in funny places. I even paused a great movie by Miyazaki to write this down.
The phone beeps. It's the third person asking me to join them indulge in the exciting evening life in Kuwait, but my feet seemed to have forgotten to ask me before they turned into roots, so Idecline.
I flip a coin. Heads- Block 4 matchbox house, or Tails- stay here till she leaves. Tails. but when will she leave? Will I still be sane then? My eyes glaze. The wall stares at me, boring holes at the back of my head; scandalized by the fact that I stalled my plan to drape its nakedness with my 6 x 6 NYC photograph. I let it continue looking wide and tall and uninterrupted in its plainness thinking more and more that I will leave my fate to a coin. Money wont let me down.