Playing with minds.

There are random Russian guys hanging around, talking in their own language. I hate that. I always wonder if they’re talking rubbish about me. One of them keeps glancing at me nervously. I glare at him, but it makes no difference. He doesn’t seem to notice my stares. So I just give up. I do that, sometimes. Just give up. It’s a bad habit, but if something isn’t worth the effort, I won’t do it. I mean, I don’t understand the people that have to finish everything perfectly, regardless of how pointless and futile their effort is.

I sigh listlessly, and wish my iPod worked. I shouldn’t have thrown it at the wall, really. I mean, it was already dying, but that was obviously the last straw for the iPod. Because now it just doesn’t work at all. Me and technology don’t get on. Give me a new computer and I can guarantee that pretty much all that can go wrong with it will go wrong with it. It’s just inevitable.

No one is sitting near me. People give me weird looks and walk past. I'm not especially bothered, but I'm bored out of my skull. I want someone to sit near so I can play with their mind. I guess some people would call it cruel, but why should I care?

I try to screw with one of the Russian guys’ minds, but they’re not close enough to do much. He looks around wildly for a second, but goes back to the conversation almost immediately. Damn weak mental powers. I’ve never been much good at them from a distance. Maybe if I looked less like I was going to kill whoever sat next to me, someone might sit near enough? Meh.

The End

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