More

The constant need for more is going to kill us all. We gluttons, waiting impatiently at the slop trough. The category of our want is of no consequence. Sex. Money. Drink. Stuff. Sex, again, and again…

A sad aspect of the human condition or a sad learned behavior? Maybe it is what it is and it doesn’t really matter.

This empty glass reminds me it’s true. So does her empty neckline, and the gap in her teeth.

She leans closer, mumbling something through the menthol-gin fog. The words were unclear but her need for more was crystal. Empty eyes. Emptier soul.

I want for nothing. I smile.