Cousins, friends, everyone.
College, high school, graduating; success.
And here I sit on a bus.
Not in high school, not in college, not graduating. Unsuccessful.
Do they call this state of being failure?
Am I suffering from a prolonged state of nostalgia?
Last night I filled up my gas tank for the third time this week.
I didn't fill it up all the way, of course. Increments of ten. Baby steps.
Come on people.
What more can I do with a paycheck for less than enough? Sure to be my last paycheck, in fact.
And I can't tell you how much that hurts. Broke; jobless in a small city with small people. Traveling in a car that could be, in fact, more broke than I am.
So, at this gas station I find every spot occupied by people who seem to be traveling in the same group. Loud, excited, party animals, if you will.
They seem to be enjoying life even though they do look ridiculous.
Hey, I'm the one with a close to worthless debit card in my teeth, too lazy to refill the steering fluid in my car. Too broke to fix the problem that forces me to refill the steering fluid once a week.
I survive off lettuce and rice, for Christ's sake. Coffee and creamer.
Cigarettes and steering fluid.
I can't sleep without a light on.
I can't sleep without saying goodnight to someone.
I can't sleep without my fucking stuffed animal.
Hey, I've made it this far.
I've survived more than a few months supporting my meaningless existence in a city that can swallow you whole.
I hope this doesn't mean I'm giving up.