Before long, I am walking through the cold desert, carrying my newfound treasure. Nothing else resembles that of reality, except myself and my companion. Just miles and miles of sand. Fuck I used to love beaches.
I cant tell how long I've been walking, or how long I've been reading. I'm reading as I walk, or when I stop to rest from the walking. Wait I can't even get a hold of the sense of time. I can't tell time. What the fuck is going on ?
I'm sitting down reading again in the calm desert.
I read the book as I wade through a strong storm.
I'm drifting.
Shit I'm talking like a fucktard.
The next series of entries are a jumbled mess. I'm just reading through. It's the only thing I can do to keep myself sane in this... this... oh fuckit I'll just read.
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