Journals of a Psychopath



Many women want Clarkson and usually it is to their cost.


The times in the lower world burdening, but I focused on politeness and it disguised the dark- activities.
      “Afternoon Clarkson how are you?” Coleen the bartender asked.
I averted my eyes, I did not want to encourage her, obsessed with me, she attempted to look sensual and Coleen stroked her breasts sighed.
      “Do you want the usual?”
I assented, Coleen studied me and dispensing the vodka, she added ice and lemon. An aged guy slept, his newspaper was spread on his lap. His name Herbert and Herbert’s old crone was baptised Megan. A splenetic woman, the bitterness lurked in her body produced arthritis. Coleen leaned on the bar, I could see her intense stare, I had made it plain in the past she did not interest me, but she still hoped I would change my mind.
      “See you soon,” she said, as I exited.
      “Not if I see you first,” I said under my breath.

The Shrine

(Musing on sunny days when the Lady Flarice entered her yard and flashes of her uneasiness satisfied. At last, Lady Flarice invited me into her home, she could not know the result, and her poor judgement opened the stanza. Striding into Lady Flarice's home legitimately and poking into her shirt, her nipples matched my manly-tool. Roaming in the kitchen, the Lady Flarice’s bubbles of flesh undulated comparable to liquid gold. On occasions the dyke was in, she fixed her eyes on me her glare did not produce the effect she wanted. I concerted much effort and I gained the Lady Flarice's trust.) Appraising the Lady Flarice, she groomed her cat called Marmalade a ginger tom.
      “You are mine your body and freedom will belong to me,” I sang.
      “The day is approaching when the enlightenment to your mind produces independence from the lesser earth.
The longing is clarified related to the status of the spirit. Your mind is a channel linked to the desire,” the Presenter said.
Glancing to the walls and the pictures illustrating Lady Flarice’s smiling face adhered to the plaster aided the purpose intended they reminded me of Lady Flarice’s sin.

The Gas Station

      “Rheanna is searching for you are you going to see her?” Perry asked.
Joe smirked, I fiddled with the coffee pot, I was feeling extremely uncommunicative, and I drummed my fingers.
      “You should realise how fortunate you are,” Perry said.
      “I make my own destiny.”
Perry changed the topic they talked about baseball contented Harry’s enthusiasm included the sport. The times he spent alongside his baby limited game days. Harry did not begrudge the infant he was everything I was not. Uninterested in the vehicle I worked on and it presented an opportunity, when I fixed a car for a broad. The woman usually granted me the eye and another conquest would be taken. Rushing outside, Rhea leant on the Buick she broadened her lips.
      “Come on Clarkson shall we go on a spin?”
Rhea’s mouth gaped, she watched, as I sped from the gas station. Perry dialled my cell.
      “Where the fuck are you going? You know your shift is still on the clock.”
      “I will make up the time.”
      “If you did your job instead of skiving, maybe I would not need to keep tabs on you.”
      “Stop carping you should be used to my comings and goings by now Perry,"
I replied.

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