City of Fog

Mentally exhausted, drained of everything that had ever made me feel alive. It was more than sleep; I was crashing faster than my world seemed to be. Homeless, living out of my car in the streets of San Francisco, it would only be a few days until I no longer had the comfort of this machine. She got me here on gas, and soon, hopefully soon she would be paying for rent on my new place. The idea of putting what was left of this stalling mind on this page seemed dangerous. What would happen when my last thought ran out, what would I be left with? Old clothes, a bong and my dog; my poor bastard dog, stuck in the front seat and just as confused as I. His eyes asking the questions that I failed to find the answers to. How much longer would we be stuck in this damn car, when would life turn around like it always did? So many windows to look into, so many homes out there; yet I sleep here. I’m barely getting enough cash from this fiberglass beast, no more than a month to survive if I was lucky. Somehow, somewhere in me it felt worth it. Gaining the freedom from everything that has happened, freedom knowing that life could start again. When does this happen, when does my mind clear of the past?

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