Last night at the bus stop a woman in a gray fur coat with rotting teeth was removing a bologna sandwich from her purse as the woman next to her perused a TV guide while her boyfriend stroked her shoulder with one hand while holding a hot dog slathered in mustard with gobs of sauerkrat spilling out of the bun. At times like these I wonder how much longer I will be able to go on and take just one more step before this overwhelming fatigue stymies all desire to move ahead and I collapse face first onto the sidewalk. But I refuse to halt or even momentarily hesitate, and the next thing I know I'm in a grocery store where a paunchy cashier in a faded yellow tank top is pulling at his moustache hairs. He has worked here a long time, perhaps 10, 20, even 30 years without an iota of  remorse or regret as to why he does what he does. The guy seems to really enjoy his work, and his relaxed slouch exudes  contentment and serenity in contrast to his ever-vigilant eyeballs constantly scanning the aisles for potential shoplifters. There is something quietly reassuring and life affirming in the way he squeezes my hand after giving me the milk and cigarettes as if to say "son, take care and be well on your sojourn through the eternal night."

 

Later I enter the elevator of my appartment building followed by a short haired mascara woman and her pathetic poodle . I frequently bump into this woman in the elevator, and she is always talking to her dog and smiling a post-menopausal smile with decrepitude well stamped into the wrinkles near her mouth inteand the bags below her eyes ballooning due to botched botox injections 

 

I get off on the elevator on the 34th floor, insert the key into apartment D and enter my meagerly furnished studio overlooking the abandoned highway. After stripping off my clothes I closely examine my torso in the bathroom mirro and.it is immediatley apparent that something is very wrong, My  ribs, normally set well back beneath a layer of fat,  are now starkly visible through the skin. The longer I stare at myself the more sickening is the vision of emaciated eye sockets staring at me from the mirror of no escape.