torn sheets in the rain

happiness isn't really a warm gun; happiness is resigning from your job without an inkling of what you'll do next, but still knowing that you just made a very good decision. it's painting your living room black-cherry red and ignoring the white stucco-ed glare of every other room. getting home before 7pm and wondering what you'll do with your evening. rubbing the belly of a hyperactive, cross-eyed greyhound. sipping a drink and talking to an old friend. dreaming about what you'll be next.