Each time you write the same sentence yet again you think about going on the run from the law. Running and never stopping. Just going until you stop to drop and die. Fuck it! You fix a good meal eat it with the rest of your beer. Slip a book in your pocket and you are out the door. Life as a hobo was made for you it turns out. You can pan handle up enough change to buy a burger, and you can steal enough to rent a motel room two or three nights a week. And it's fun. you love being homeless, jobless, wanted by the stupid law. Hahaha! Take that society!