Blank sheets are scary shit. They are why Jeffrey Dahmer got fat, why Adolf was so driven to leave his artistic whispering to hate some people so much, why some homeless are attacked by kids who should be trading candy, why beer is turned unbeautiful by the most unoriginal life forms you can imagine, why tears fall during a tire commercial of a bad show, why families are forcibly separated for no easy reason, why some rings are so heavy and others not heavy enough, why that song at this time punctures our vase.
I hate blank sheets too, almost all of us do. It's our reactions that differ, like stories from a 2:00 p.m. shooting in a busy downtown. So he might be pleased with your behavior and she might be annoyed. Me, I wish you the worst. I don't listen to music or read books during our commute, so what else can I do but see such dangerous visions, and push my hidden terrors into your future as I make myself throb in the ecstasy of occasional violence. All this, even though I don't know you and your only offense was not pissing me off when I hoped you would.
Time to fill some sheets, no matter what the cost. Our lives and your ribs are in the balance.
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