I walk to the coffee shop under the darkness of a sky, getting lighter to show the sad expressions of the downtrodden bums seeking change and sustenance,  and still, I complain about the less than perfect world.

Later, with coffee in hand my voice mumbles some destain about some perceived injustice or complaint about something and the mentality ill women with the the incredibly bad haircut  yells at me to “fuck off” from across the street and I return the greeting and then in the early morning light the absurdity of it all hits me…

I have little to complain about. I should just shut the fuck up and enjoy the ride! Yeah, like that’s going to happen.

Like the rest of humanity, I like complaining.