Hi, I'm Seven.
Or rather, one of the many people with that name.
I've got a decent amount of hobbies and interests, varying in how niche they are.
Though...the level at which I pursue these hobbies and engage with these interests is mid at best. To the point where I like talking about them to uninformed people, but end up outmatched in knowledge by those genuinely interested.
To put it simply, im a jack of all trades, and master of none. Corny, but it's true.
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- The sound of something hitting the mailbox. -
I start, but look to the table and moisten my dry throat. That’s why I have always been prepared. Apparently, hanging from a doorknob works best. I think about the process of having sex, but I hear squealing and laughing job in the shrubs along the highway on the way home from my part time, a gorger of virgins suddenly it’s probably just a utility bill. Who else would be calling me, it won’t work unless it happens like 10 times. I dated the round-faced cashier a miracle smacked its lips and left. The urine of the cute but asinine me, month after month, I felt like I should have really killed him but dating the round-faced cashier, a miracle eating sweetbread is too busy, but doing nothing is too boring. Going toward the cash register with a book, like my gray matter was going to splatter out of my head. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine,” I said with as much scorn as I could. When there was absolutely no reaction, it traveled along the synapses and if I don’t pay the balance within 5 days I drink my own urine, I imagine a perpetual motion where I drink my half- pissed urine and I have delusions of banging on the mail slot in the door over and over again and of course I go looking along the highway eating sweet bread but I couldn’t find it. Several hours after returning to the apartment the face of afternoon TV excreted the urine of future people of a different dimension, then the round-faced, bespectacled cashier who drinks it if I have the courage to commit suicide, I can’t take it anymore, but upon closer inspection, they just seem to be drunk. The toilet is slowly waking up to the brown hair. The sound of something hitting the mailbox. I start, but the voice turns into an electric signal in my eardrum, when I finally open my eyes a crack there it’s the finale of an amateur look-alike contest and that was about it. I grab an asinine yet cute turd¬ like shoulder from the hem and cuff all kinds of hair was protruding, I thought for a second he was dead and thought maybe it’s time to quit this job. The brain attacking, the stomachache of an aging person, pointy boots, I approach feeling nervous but I “snort” the words “virgin random feast.” The sound of something hitting the mailbox. The perpetual motion I seem to have slept for nearly 12 hours because the electricity purportedly stopped that is to say,
instead of buying my own book, after making him crawl from a sweeping leg throw, like a curse, I was violently moved over and over like 10 times, for the younger coworker a pig nose right after a peeping pointy boot from a white T-shirt, the appearance of the man from before in the park living alone is a guidebook for suicide without the courage to execute repeatedly. Why, for something at this level to do something the can of coffee is the comedian’s jokes happen and the body is obviously rejecting it, but for the amateur look- alike contest origins prominent abs unstable gaze from flashed for an instant by younger coworkers maybe it’s time to quit this job I thought. It makes me start for a second, but already the capacity has postponed it. The excitement of the party and finally excreting from the office there’s a tiresome TV celebrity’s guidebook that I browse. Before my job a flashy appearance I need to deposit it or may I bring forth just the right amount of courage but it seems buried my chest is pounding it seems to be an event the world with a male appearance. I was shouted at by a male customer and I end up the put-upon expression of the spectacular younger coworker I wasn’t sure it was all right, I apply to crap, but there is no reaction that exchange which pours forth associations, is just in line with perpetual motion of a world far, far away. In 5 days, I was worried participating in the party I was teary for some reason, and I was recorded as being in arrears, but on the receipt before my job I thought and thought and for some reason I feel like crying too. Deliberately afterwards because that person isn’t in this world. By having a rotten plan, maybe it’s the weather. I finally open my eyes a little and a trap I don’t recognize the face like a turd. It’s like it’s a conversation event. With the exception of famous people a seemingly useless elderly girl was tearful needs something from me, a cute appearance in the bookstore I couldn’t take it anymore I grabbed her shoulder and walked out. The sound of something hitting the mailbox. I start for a second, the younger coworker the toilet is resolved to go contest’s pointy sex. I drink the doorknob, the can of coffee is like an identical synapse. A stomachache and electric signal is sex with the round-faced cashier. Amateur sex. Having sex after making her crawl in a sweeping throw. Sex forever. The sound of something hitting the mailbox. I start for a second but.