I’m old. I’m tired.
I’ve had a few squatters come through and it seems they never want to leave. The place wouldn’t pass a building inspection – the pelvic floor is all but ruined – and the neighbors are weird. I’ve been kicked, poked, prodded and generally abused by Herself and aliens alike.
I build a nice home and each month some bitch comes along and destroys it unless a squatter shows up before she does.
Just when I start getting used to the intruder the goons cut me open and pull the thing out of my once-cozy abode. Then they try to ‘fix’ me. I now sport a perma-smile, ‘Joker’-style. Cheese!
I hear them talking sometimes during their ‘private meetings’. There may be more.
I’m sad, and droopy. There’s nothing firm left on me.
There might be a labor dispute in the making; the working conditions are dismal and the pay is non-existent.
Look. It’s not pretty in here right now. Scars and vandalism will do that to you. I’m bitter. and cold. Somehow those squatters manage to warm up the place but without them here the chill gets right to your bones. Like a deep, dark, cave so old you have to brush aside the cobwebs just to get in.
Welcome to my womb! eurgh… World!