These nights I find myself approaching her in the bar. Maybe it’s impatience, maybe it’s the desire taking over, I don’t know and I don’t care. She leans seductively against the wall and grips her whisky like she grips my soul. I am a sucker and I relish it. I offer to buy her a drink, and tonight, she accepts. I flag the bartender and order another round. She flicks her hair back and shoots me a paralyzing smile. What am I to do? Resist temptation? Pretend like I don’t think about her all day long? I can’t do that. Without her I am a fraction of myself. I am the wet dream of capitalists-- a constant producer. I do my part, I go home, I complain, I repeat. A model citizen. Yes yes Weber, fine job, fine job indeed. Keep it up and one day you could be sitting behind Johnson’s desk. Fuck all of that money grubbing, horseshit mentality. Fuck the notion that dollars define success and that external beauty is the only relevant beauty. Fuck the idea of working your entire life to send your kids to college. Your happiness is worth more than anything. Accept that and then work towards sculpting your offspring. What is the point of raising kids if you haven't had the chance to grow up yourself?