Autobiography as a Haiku

I look outside the car window and see plains of yellow grass. I feel constipated. I try to calm myself by focusing on something else. After four hours of driving through the same endless scenery, I’m already sick of it. I close my eyes and try to sleep. But I can’t. I try to read my book, but I feel too constipated to do anything. With nothing else to do, I look outside again.

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