Random Roxanne

Sleep deprived, you walk on broadway, thinking to yourself, "Was it worth it all?". He says to you, "Roxanne, you don't have to sell your soul tonight." It isn't that easy after all, is it? Saying isn't believing, is it? You tread on beaten paths; losing your footprints among the millions, thinking, "It really doesn't make a difference, does it?". "To whom?", he asks, checking his Guide to English Grammar. This is stupid, isn't it? I'm sick of asking questions that you wouldn't ever answer. Red light, green light, yellow. I wish it just stops at yellow. People would just stop and look around. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the thought for the day.

"I'll force you to sit here and mark you absent!". And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the threat for the day.