ashreedactyl
If only you could have been as welcoming as they were. I mean, they aren't even my parents. Yeah, I don't fit into your definition of a 'good son.' But that doesn't make me a bad person. Respect me for who I am. They did. And they didn't give birth to me.
Modesty was not his best policy. He couldn't not bring himself to not boast about his accomplishments. After all, he elevated himself from being a heroin addict. He deserved it. Who the fuck had time to be modest anyway?
He witnessed the moment. The moment between the two breathless lovers stuttering at each other on their own little unconcerned corner of the world. He felt ashamed. And then ashamed that he felt ashamed. He had intruded. Witness an emotion so real he didn't know what to do with it. Breathless.
Hapless thoughts. Hapless words. Whatever was the point? Everything she was seeing (was she?) couldn't sink in. She didn't mean to. Nothing meant to.
The occupant gazed out the window of his tiny dirty apartment. Did he live there? Yes, he was alive. But did he live? He couldn't be sure. He was an occupant of despair. Floating through. He gazed out the window at the cars below him. What did they occupy?