Some days nothing seems to work out.
It’s not that anything is bad, relatively speaking, but it’s also nothing good, nothing going the way you want.
Shoelace moments, I call them, in reference my favorite Bukowski poem.
with each broken shoelace
out of one hundred broken shoelaces,
one man, one woman, one
so be careful
It’s that shit, all day long. Nothing that means anything, really, but,
Just the fucking shoelace.