They say shingles is an old man's. Something reserved for old farts far past their prime, in their twilight years.
So maybe I'm an old man then, maybe death's grip is slowly tightening around my ribs and the end is nigh. Or maybe my immune system is just shot.
That's most likely the case because the days now are like one midnight freight train of stresses coupled with stresses coupled with stresses by the boxcar full. And Samira won't talk to me. She was so young, and fun to fuck. Oh, well. She deserved better, I was an asshole. I guess the track's run out. Time to hop off.
Fuck shingles.
