Jack Tait dreams of better days.

Jack Tait sat on his blue tricycle and couldn’t move.  not one step further.  a tired and lonely man filled with shame and filled with pain.  too many drunken nights.  too many hungovered mornings.  too many nameless fucks and too many beatings by angry men filled with angry booze.  Jack Tait wanted more out of life but he no longer could move.  his mind wandering around in his old head the way his penis used to wander around.  early years filled with fun and freedom slowly and painfully turning to older years filled with regrets and sore body parts.  sore back.  sore head.  stuffy nose.  sore hands.  sore knees.  sore feet.  sore soul knowing that life is slowly winding down.  days moved slower back when Jack was a kid.  now the days are moving faster.  days filled with boredom.  early morning hopes shifting quickly to wine induced sleeps on his shitty purple reclining chair in his rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.  art mirroring life Jack moves around in circles accomplishing nothing but periodic glimpses at beautiful girls that set Jack Tait deeper into his depression.  sleepless nights turning Jack Tait deeper into depression.  shitty jobs turning Jack Tait deeper into his depression and most importantly, shitty people turning Jack Tait deeper into his depression.  shitty people with zero heart and wrinkled up souls offering nothing to society except some “yes’s”, moving along with smiles while artistic people (real artists not fluffy phony assed pansies) struggle in piss and dirt looking for a way out but wanting to stay and endure more.  fucking and sucking becoming illegal while lying and stealing becoming legal making Jack Tait even more depressed.  Jack Tait could no longer formulate thoughts.  he could no longer formulate plans.  he has become a simple man on a simple bike.  hopes and dreams a distant memory along with his deceased Dad and deceased dog.  Jack Tait sits on his blue tricycle and waits…and waits…and waits…but nothing comes except for a few smelly farts and a few smelly burps.  he is now drooling and his one nut has lost all of it’s strength.  he has become a pathetic.  tired.  lonely.  dirty.  guilt ridden.  shameful.  heat flashed.  wrinkled.  old.  lost.  sweaty shell of a man.  he closes his eyes and falls off of his tricycle and lands on his right shoulder.  he does not wake up as the rains come pouring down and washing his drool down the dirty drain filled with piss and shit.
Jack Tait dreams of better days.