He lies draped limply across the bed, breathing slowly. He can hear the wind rushing down the street. He can see the murky glow of the moon through the window. He can smell the skunk that has been spraying all over the neighborhood. He can feel the cold autumn chill playing across his body. He can taste the lingering barbecue in the air from the neighbors. He can sense the chill fall night surrounding him, covering him like a blanket. Yet, if he can absorb all this life around him, how can he feel so empty inside? In spite of the vibrant prescense of the world around him, how can he be so lonely? Does the shell of his body repel substance like a magnet? Or is he just too passive, too mute to attain pages to fill the chronicle of his life?

Get a grip, man. Just go to sleep and quit whining. Go on and actually live your life.

Tunes: "Acoustic #3", Goo Goo Dolls; "Black Hole Sun", Soundgarden.