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Ruins of Ambition

Half-read textbooks and novels falling off shelves.

Neglected futons scattered on the floor.

Accumulated incense ash blown across the low table.

Cheap beer cans in bags on the balcony.

Martial arts curriculum sheets stacked atop unpaid bills.

Wooden sword, staff, and arrows leaning against the wall in the corner.

Mountain maps on walls looking at me, begging the hours of my days off.

How did this happen?

The many products of my myriad minds, all maniacal mice scurrying to make plans. Fueled by honest black coffee, streaks of white milky fear, illegally downloaded grains of brown sugar. They are all potential futures like all of the unused food spilling from my midget shelf space.

White rice, brown rice, rice a roni.

Spaghetti noodles, lasagna noodles, macaroni and cheese.

Miso soup, corn soup, cans of chili beans.

Another unopened bag of potatoes has grown fungus.

I usually just eat fish.

Whose apartment is this? Standing in the kitchen under obnoxious lights, it’s all ridiculous. It’s someone else.

Crack the whisky, pour half a tea cup full. I can’t believe she thought I’d like Jack Daniels.

Something is different. All those worlds. I don’t want to go back. So I’ll just sit and look at them for a bit.

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