I know you and I love you so well, so dysfunctionally, so intimately. I can sense the petulance in the way you crack the middle knuckles of your middle fingers when you are petulant and I can sense the upward rush of happiness when you crack the middle knuckles of your middle fingers so arthritic with happiness not yet discouraged. Boredom, I feel like I was born conjoined orally to your teat- my every languid year passes with your graffito in the footnote of every long, monochromatic yearbook.
Boredom, I have to tell you, I know what I will be for Halloween this year. I will be Giorgio Moroder. Take me to your patch bay.