Yesterday linked to yesterday until you have a necklace of yesterdays, worn as a symbol of shame for the world to see. Like lines on a face. White hairs crowding out the darker ones. Time, leaving her indelible fingerprints of ageing on a man's face as he declines steadily into the gray twilight of anonymity and, then, quietly blotted out of existence by death as a world obsessed with the next big thing stands oblivious. Such was the shadow of a life Mighty Mike Quinn found himself inhabiting one fine Wednesday morning. He stood, in front of a full length mirror in the musty crampedness of his shithole apartment. Silently, he assessed what was left of his once championship physique: He had pecs, but they were sagging. His biceps were still big by barroom standards, but a far cry from the days he flexed and posed in front of the hungry lens of a camera. His abs, or more accurately, the place where his abs once were, was now a pale, pillowy cushion of middle age fat. The legs, never a strong point, were stork like. His gaze rose and he looked himself in the face. He studied the chin: The once strong jawline now obscured by double and even triple chins. The hair-always a disaster, was worse than ever. A mullet/combover combo that looked ridiculous. He forced a grin, and watched his face explode into a million wrinkles. He sighed and collapsed into his second hand sofa. He reached out for his pet cat Mittens, who took one look at him and ran away, disappearing into the abyss of clutter he called home. But, despite the momentary setback, Mighty Mike was a true bodybuilder and that meant the next comeback was always around the corner. Some miracle of miracles was just waiting to propel him back to the glory of his youth. Hope springs eternal and Mighty Mike felt as though he was on the verge. He nodded off for about 10 minutes. Eyes closed and snoring he was abruptly awakened by a throat closing fit of apnea. Mighty Mike stood up from his crummy sofa and decided it was time: Time to take the world by storm. Mike decided then and there what he needed was a score.
What is this load of horse shit really all about?
