The sun swooped down and claimed another day. Yes, it swooped down. One minute it was perched up on the weather vane like a prized cock, the next (ok, so its more like 480 minutes later) it swooped down and another day is gone. A little premature one may say, but when a day is spent, it is spent, and we will have to wait for the sun to rise again. Needless to say, many of us nine-to-fivers are a little sore by this.
It is like this every day, the sun perks up early from the east and droops to the west; casting long shadows upon the cubby holes where we brood. Each day, we tried vainly to lengthen the hours, but always it ends the same, the sun goes down quicker than projected, swift as a kite. Everything is thrown subsequently into pitch blackness. On some nights, when we are lucky, the moon would comfort us by mooning us (its voluptuous hiney); but usually it just taunts us, revealing only half a cheek. Sometimes nothing at all, just a hint that it is still there beyond the silky evening.
The sun and moon, an alluring couple who never consummates, leaving in their wake many days unsatisfied. I got to tell you, it blows. It sucks how each day goes by unfulfilled. But I suppose it is better to be alive than to be dead, because living is orgasmic, dead not so much.
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