There were times that he believed that walls could not hold him. They couldn’t. He couldn’t escape and it had nothing to do with his walls.

Sometimes he would leave; sleep was kind of like day release when he dreamed. The nights when the heights shone at their brightest, right through the ceiling and shut eyes.

He’d wake up exhausted and know that he had lived.

John studied the alarm clock. It was still beeping. The sound echoed from the dream still fading. By the time he left the domicile it will have faded completely. Such was his drive not to be late for work again.

The screen of the computer reminded him that he was distracted. Mind was not focused on the task at hand and John feared the consequences. Funny how it became so late so quickly. A moment ago he was standing in his underwear in front of the mirror making sure he was still 23, good looking and healthy as anyone who eats microwave dinners can be.

And it was lunchtime, his favourite time of the day. Time to smile at the receptionist, and the other one, the one who wasn’t young and pretty. Make some mistake, look too long and you’ll be internally kicking yourself the whole way to the food… food glorious food. Crap I looked too much at the pretty girl, now she thinks I’m some sort of pervert, no wonder she didn’t want to sit beside me on public transport. What do I care I’m not even attracted to the attractive, and what would I say to her? Maybe I could tell her that I only seek her company because it would validate my assumed identity. I’m sure she would be greatly amused, just like the last one, who runs from me.

John paid for his food, he disliked the woman who served him his sandwiches. They all made the experience so impersonal but she, the harridan sneered through every moment of her service. He was afraid of her, afraid she might expose him for the man if you could even call him that so out of touch with the plight of the working man (real one) or woman (doubly real because of) love, which they seem to give on short term lease.

Back to the desk, it was time to be distracted again, but first, the food that we all craved. Man we were hungry. The belly screamed from below and the mouth eagerly prepared, too eager but that’s what napkins are for. It was a good time, I enjoyed myself, John enjoyed himself and no one else was there.

Time to create something. Feel validated. This is what artistic license was all about. Create or it expires. Renew renew renew, this is the first day of my life and look, see what I’ve done, see it there made by me gripping you to your core. Look at it, it wants you to look at it when it moves you. Are you moved? Don’t worry there are plenty more. Many to choose from. None as good or as inspired as this.

Boss is impressed. The impression is clear, paranoia is cloudy.

Happy are those that are happy.

End

Start

John stared in at his reflection, he no longer saw the 23 year old boy but a man.

John was happy, he didn’t worry so much about losing his hair as when he still had it, and he often stared at the pretty girls twice as long as it would take them to pass comment.

John was a homeless man, he was free to wander through the garbage heap of life and find the hidden treasures buried there. He slept at bus shelters and had acquired a connoisseur’s taste for soup.

John had nowhere to go, nothing to do and his beard often scared small children, yet he was happy.

Greatest recommendation for a nervous breakdown you’ll ever meet.

And he’ll sing and dance for a dollar.