HO HUM

I haven't forgotten or given up.
Still here.
Living in a one-room place that's not home and that I can't afford.
Having daydreams about being homeless and tax-free.
I've been eyeing up underpasses and trying to decide just how hard it would be to live through an Ohio winter without a roof over my head. I've watched the trains go by, and have decided that I can catch them even if they're going a little fast. I can ride them.
Ride them to somewhere else.
Just go and take that romantic and easy way out. It would be like a good ending to a great western film. All walking off into the sunset and shit. Dust getting kicked up behind me, and everyone who saw me go would have that feeling like they secretly wished they could leave, too.
But you can't go, and chances are I won't either. No one ever gets off that easy.
I keep throwing away useless lottery tickets. I got a trash can full of them. And with each set of six crumpled up numbers, another slight glimmer of hope gets tossed with them. Days pile up on days, and mediocrity stands around in the parking lot of my apartment building. He's a man with a nice suit and wide brim hat, but his pants are a bit too high, and you can see that he is wearing white athletic socks that hang down limply into his dusty black dress shoes. He is waiting there for me to run out of my spare change.
And I wish, and I mean I really wish, that I was being overly dramatic.
It's never quite been this hard before.
A lot of that I attribute to being without people who care about me.
You are all so far away.
Everyone is.