A little something using the words ocean, empire state building, oatmeal, and X box.
My bowl of oatmeal stretches on and on during the course of this taxing breakfast, taking the exact same direction of the last twelve meals. I don't want to be here. Neither does my watery oatmeal. It's an ocean. And I'm drowning.
No, I don't feel like going to the Empire State Building. We did that yesterday. (Of course you forgot. Were you even there?)
Yes I like my X box you got me. (Surprised? I'm sure. I mean, since when do I like you.)
The voice drones on and on and passes over my head. I'm not listening. I'm just staring at my oatmeal. And it's staring back. His voice is pushing my head closer and closer to the bowl. I'm going to drown. I don't think he cares. But does it matter?
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