Reading a lot of William Burroughs/ (writing exercise)

The depression laden air Cuts through like knife, what is what an how is now, junk filled rooms are burdened by depressed tables, people sit, talk, and slowly exasperate themselves. The wolves surround with many eyes, a love like not, don't know how. Maybe another time she said, discontent, burdened eyes. Arms are heavy. Vain's in junk. The city is disturbing, the house, many windows, got no soul. Lets run like kids I say, I never was, burdened eyes, not like tomorrow.Stanley stands there with arms up in the air, this is the end he says, maybe not, there is always tomorrow, burdened eyes, an discontent.