[ WP ] Your character is stuck in a playlist of songs . Every time a new song plays , a new world appears !

I've been here before. Countless times, I've been here. I sit in a pile of tattered cloth, once passable as clothing. Cold, wrinkled flesh has become me, like I've been left out in the rain far too long. Used. I'm sitting in an alleyway. It's dark, and there's the sun, just setting, bidding me its farewell for yet another eternity. The concrete beneath me is hard. Hard and unforgiving. I run my palms along it, struggling fruitlessly for the thousandth time to grasp something solid, to anchor me to the definitive. To something comforting. A man approaches slowly, taking long, cavalier strides towards me. Broken glass crushes into infinitesimally small pieces beneath his heels. 
 
 
 I am scared. I can feel light precipitation coming down, striking me, cold and sharp and stinging, like small icy spears dropped from the skies. The rain can hardly, however, be distinguished from the perspiration which coats my body. I'm shaking. I have to stop shaking. 
 
 
 The man comes closer, and I can see the lust, the rage, the sin in his eyes. All that is wrong in him will perhaps disappear from him for a few fleeting moments. He feels like death can not catch him or even find him in these moments. I know this because I've seen him so many times. 
 
 
 Fuck him. Nevermore. 
 
 
 I gaze up to the sky, and see a similar sight: hanging from beneath the moon, a couple words, `` Rape Me.'' I grasp for anything with my bloodied hands, unable to gain any stability. He comes onto me, grasping my throat with a course, calloused hand. I ready my left leg, and kick with all my force, into his groin. A grunt. Blood splatters onto my face, some going to my eyes, making me blink. Fuck him. 
 
 
 He rolls over, clutching himself. I rise from the ground. I kick him in the ribs, the face, the groin. I stomp his chest. He wheezes. His eyes close shut, swollen and blue. I turn and walk from the pathetic animal. I feel the warmth of the sun as it rises, rays of light stretching through the alleyway to touch my back. I turn to see the sun, beneath which hangs a strange word, the meaning of which I'm not familiar with: `` Tubthumping.'' 
 
 
 I remove a phone from the pocket of my now mended jeans. The phone displays a playlist of 1001 songs. At the bottom is `` Tubthumping.'' I scroll up, up, up. Whoever made this playlist must like Nirvana.
