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They call me "Joe Doe". I'm a hustler in every way the name describes it. World is going to shit, and know one gives a fuk, as long as you got loot, you Okay. Loot has no race, you got the people that have money and the ones that don't. Ever since high school, I remember always wanting to be a drug dealer, let me break it down for you...Once upon a time...

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I am awake but yet in a surreal state of confusion, clear to the reality I guess... in denial.  I come across evidence disguised in kindness.  Setting up shelter where ever the sun shines the most... and so on.  Though sacrifices were received as cold dishes, never an inch of gratitude, but yet an eighteen wheeler of unsettled baggage with no plans to be cared for.  Regardless and considering the obvious I move forward.  illiterate, to whats not mine or not meant for me, for I still have beast senses to where I recognize the unrecognizable, And see right through the fugazi.  I also stop and wonder, would it be me to change this disturbing choice? I must decide.
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