The Obscure

Her arms are wicked and her legs are long

So continues the astonishingly dull chronicles of John Colón's life. Where will it lead? When will it end? Nobody knows, not even I, the main character in this story that keeps on going and going until even the main character in it wishes it to stop. So continues the story of John, isolated by choice, boring by circumstance, and addict by necessity. A strange person this anti-hero is, with strange vices and stranger discomforts. He changes his socks twice a day, before he goes out in public he looks at his eyes in the mirror to make sure that his eyelids are open equally, he wears the same clothes for weeks at a time but showers religiously (except for when he has lithium toxicity, or a bad cluster of headaches. That makes it difficult to stand up.)
We will not tell you about his vices, nor of some of his more peculiar discomforts, for your own sake, of course.

But so ends these chronicles for now, because the writer is to friggin' dumb to come up with anything poignant to say. Not that that is unusual, it has come to be expected.