I'm not the type of person who goes around, bragging about all the alchohol he drank the night before, and how many girls he laid, and how much pot he smoked, and how much alchohol he drank--I'm the type of guy who sits around, thinking about things, and, if nothing comes from that, drowning my brain with fluid electronics, and more input than anyone else should take.

I gathered that skill from my father. We're the type of people who will leave the television on, put on some headphones, listen to a radio, an internet broadcast, while someone is talking in the background, and typing up a report on our laptops, which are on our laps in front of our computers, which is downloading eight files as we click rigorously through some PDF file, searching for a phrase or word that will complete the crossword puzzle we have resting on our arms, to make sure we don't miss the movie we've got scheduled for five minutes from then. It's a blur. Why else would I waste my valuable sleeping-time to hang on to another hour or two of pointless web browsing?

Because I'm not fulfilled. I need more, but I don't want to do more. Fuck more. Life should revolve around me.

Life does revolve around me. I've never been shot, stabbed, or killed, and therefore, my life, and anything and everything in it, belongs to me. I control my destiny. I tell people what to do, and not vice-versa.

I'll get my way in the end, even if that means I have to do someone else's dirty work for a while. Sure, I can do your laundry. Sure, I can do your dishes. Sure, why not? But what am I getting out of it? Life experiance? Bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit. You want me to do something for you? Reward me. That's why I do it. I do it for insentive. I do it because there's something in it for me.

I'm getting off on a tangent here.

Rain starts dripping down my neck. There's never snow--only rain--and I hate it. Cars are flying by, as are white doves. I pass a cement-surrounded tree. It looks like it's grown out of the pavement... but maybe they just made it look that way? Then out in front of me steps a man, up to another man. Both are about in their fourties. "Hey, pal!" he exclaims happily.

"Hey!" The balder man replies. "I havn't seen you in ages!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for some movies, know of any good ones?"

"Must Love Dogs. You'll love it."

"I will?"

I step around them, and purposefully nudge them with my shoulder. Neither of them pay any attention to me. I like that. I like that I can go out, all by myself, and just head nowhere. No one knows where I am, and that's reassuring... in a way. But this isn't where I should be. I should be out of the city. I should find a river, a creek, and just follow it for miles into the mountains. It's raining and damp, but I've got an umbrella, and it's only noon, so I open it, and hold it up. Now I hear melodious raindrops pat, pat, patting on the thin, water-resistant cloth hanging above my head.

Just keep moving, I tell myself. You'll have some fun by the end of today.