Not only had I lost the six most perfect women any guy could ever ask for, I had also lost the ability to be with normal women, they were just nothing...in comparison, it would take hours for a normal woman to make me cum, if I didn't stop her or she didn't get bored first. Every night, I lay awake until 3 in the morning playing Overwatch, getting the usual "what the fuck skin is that?! How did you get it?!" Etc etc from every person I play with. The only people who seemed to beleive my story. Soon a train came, a great silver thing, which stopped and settled gently and opened its doors to release another crowd of late Friday night revelers. He stepped inside and took a seat in a corner. People packed in around him, even people older and less able-bodied than he, but that night he didn’t care, he’d lost his guitar, his only ticket to the part of his livelihood he really loved. This seat was his tonight. The train rumbled, slid, rocked and bounced along, the crowd around him ebbing. More

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