Baggage

Calling all travelers. We are going on a trip. Through our psyches'. It should be very enjoyable. Let us find out if it is. While others' are sleeping, the rest of the world is awake. Let's make the most of this time without them.

Going off on a trip of a lifetime. Not this time. Floating off to a journey that we should find rewarding. It's the beginning of a line that will come to more sanskrit. The sand is skritting on its' own. Flowing through another dimension. Stay awake for this morning flight. And the baggage will follow you through till the end. It is 100 degress over here, but at least there is not much humidity to make it feel like shit.

Different color baggage can make use for more than one meaning. I like multiple colors in my miasma. They go along perfectly with one another. And the plus side is that everything will look blue and yellow, like a wonderful broken bee.

In the meantime I will hesitate to corrupt the baggage claim at the airport, and security will not like the way that I have handled this situation. But that is alright for the future visit. And then all of the travelers' will hate me for it. Anyways I have miscontstrued the story line all together. I have forgotten what I was trying to say.

The tattooed porter was looking through all of the travelers' luggage. He enjoyed his job and the people he met. They all had nice things to tell him. And his confidence level increased when he talked to them. That was the fun part of the task at hand. He found jewels and the insides' of peoples lives that he intended to find out more of.

And this my friends is why I would like to be a porter of sorts. To travel to unknown parts of the country. Topping it off with the president of the United States and sip tea with the Queen of Britain. Vaping with Ozzie and cause all sorts of hell. This would be a popular part of the story. Let's find out what happens next.

The luggage was black with leopard stripes of pink. No one would know the difference between the colors of the rainbow. They would think it was zebra print of green. These stripes on my sleaves opened up like a chrysanthemum. It bloomed to the beat of a favorite love song. All I left her was a note saying I love you and will you marry me a second time. I will make you happy beyond comparison.

She said yes to both and I was ecstatic. This would be a travel for the both of us. And we would live happily ever after. There was no going back to the time that was. In spite of it all I still loved here from when we split up 14 years ago. The next 40 or 50 years will be very exciting. I would leave my fingerprints out. And she would comply to my love.

How was I going to express myself to the women in my life. My mother and my love. They would appreciate my sentimental days of retribution. Otherwise I would be full of sorrow. My friends this is the end of my story. I hope that you appreciate it as much as you do. Come back and listen to my next tale of ridiculousness.

The battlefield of love is a tremendous waste of time I have found. But it is so much fun. It turns you into a zombie.