...here at the place called "Land's End."
Yes, that really is the name of this apartment building. And appropriate it is, as the next step -- well, next 100 steps -- plunks you into the Pacific Ocean....
People were wandering around tonight, talking. It seemed each had had too much of their favorite high, whether booze or dope. Me, too.
One neighbor was helping his ex move to a distant city where, as it happens, I once lived. She was cheerful, he was too mellow to show that he cares. Though I know he does.
Another neighbor was polishing up parts for his cherished car. He had found them at a swap meet, and was excited to have "authentic stuff" for his ride.
Lonely, lonely people. No earth-shaking events, no politics. Just small meaningless jokes and idle chatter to hide the fact that everyone here has reached the end of their particular road and, despite dreaming big dreams as everyone does, has nowhere to go, nothing to do beyond lasting through another day.
We talk every day. None of them know what -- well, what and who -- keeps me awake every night. No one knows what shattered dreams brought me to this place.
Somehow, we all make each other laugh. But sometimes, most of the time to be honest, the laughter is forced, hollow.
Some of us reach a place from which there is nowhere to go. This is one of them.
This is Land's End. It says so on the building.
Be glad you're not here. I wish I wasn't.
6 hours ago