Dregs Of life. Here I come.

Phatigued I am. Thanks to Playhouse.

Yet again.

Surprisingly, quite unwillingly its now a part of my life. I'm not sure whether the people I see around me, throwing themselves at each other, Soulja Boying, acting like medieval Sufi saints, pushed around by a determined group of robust girls, Weeeing and generally acting "special", will ever be lifelong or even year long friends or anything more than casual acquaintances, but for those three hours we are all we have. And that truth is strangely comforting. Peaceful. Overwhelming. We may not like each other, know each other, acknowledge each other in the Someplacish world out there. But in Raka's Lalgola when Tipu decides to prowl and 30 retards are trapped in their worst nightmare, it becomes almost moja with capital M. And that's when Phatigue takes over.


Some would argue that this could be traced back to a single Spoint. But House of Cards has never sounded so good. Special thanks to Soulja Boy. And policemen on bicycles.