urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:commongoal Breanne Breanne 2038-01-19T03:14:07Z urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:commongoal:36051 2038-01-19T03:14:07Z 2038-01-19T03:14:07Z this is what i wrote drunkinly last night...the topic was vague inner-struggle.<br /><br />As soon as I walked in I knew this would be a difficult task. The slightest touch could infect, swarm over me like a hungry disease. I hiked up my laundry bag, hoping it hadn’t already touched the floor. I fished through my pocket for those couple of quarters I had obsessively cleaned earlier with Wal-Mart brand baby wipes. Is anyone in here safe? Are these overly handled washing machines full of germs and unwanted bacteria? Nothing but transference, dirty nasty transference. In fact, I cannot stay any longer. My hands are shaking, my brow is sweaty, in fact, if I stay any longer this bag will slip from my hands and I will have to abandon it, a man left behind, a wound that will hopefully earn it a purple heart. <br /><br /><br />this seemed funnier last night, it was written in jest.