How many circumferences and profit margins do you have to measure before you realize you are a slave to instructions and signatures and numbers?
How many times do you spill soup running down your chin and wish someone would come and wipe it off with a pure white scented napkin just like mom used to do during Sunday dinners?
How many times do you mistake passion for invincibility?
How many lines do you need to feel better?
How much money can you save if you run away with the bill this time and then eat nothing but canned beans and the flesh hanging from your fingernails?
How many drinks do you need until you give up hoping that the next sip out of your opaque red cup will be a potion of everything you ever wanted, a magical broomstick to carry you out of this prison of unmet desires?
How many hours will pass before blackness takes over your amphetamine fueled eyes and leave you to bleed on your final exam?
How many minutes can you spare to next person selling their own pity for pocket change or sex?
How many seconds does it take you to graduate college on the dean’s list?