You are always "just", you lazy slag. Just trying to survive, just trying to get through the day, just trying to hold onto a couple sanity points. Maybe you should do more than "just", poppet. . Her breath is warm, her voice is soft and menacing, her make up is smeared and her Chanel flats are scuffed. She won't admit she can't wear heels anymore. That would be a weakness and she detests weakness. She knows the hollowness she can make me into. She knows the fires I can light. She knows what a fat bougie housecat I am. We stare at each other, my blank hundred yard stare that makes her insane and her intense scrutiny, finding me wanting as always. Just a Muse and her girl. I try to ignore her and go back to sealing second notices.