I look around and think what I could sell if unemployment manifests. There's not much - nothing, really - worth the effort. Trash is all I own. Objects, not assets.

The fear almost overcomes me, so I distract myself and avoid all efforts to make things better outside the inside of my head.

I create my own reality, one of daydreams, mind hacks and art, far removed from the actual meat, bone and stone of things, a world that's always ready to consume me.

The gift of life, spurned.