I sit here, in yesterday’s clothes, listening to the hum of the washing machine and anticipating my 7th cigarette since I woke sometime after 9am. My clothes are strewn about the floor, my bills are unpaid, and my work is undone.
I have realized in this insipid silence, that where I live makes no difference on the quality of my life. Only my state-of-mind matters. And though the tallest building, or the most crowded street can offer a temporary pick-me-up, eventually that band-aid will become blood-saturated, lose its stick and fall to the ground.