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She hangs up the phone about to cry. She hates them, hates them all. She is sick of the disrespect and anger. She gets the point she is a screw up. She looks around her apartment. The walls are covered in smoke stains and the carpet smells like cheap wine and beer. All that is in her room is a couch, T.V, and books. She thinks to herself “Maybe they are right. I have a major in social work and music yet work as a bartender. I make minimum wage. I will never get out of this.” She sits down to cry. “Look at yourself,” she thinks, “no wonder you can’t get a boyfriend. You’re a f***ing mess.” She walks in walks into the kitchen and grabs the only two things in the cabinet a bottle of scotch and a pack of fags. The same stuff she has been using to drown it all since she was 15. She thinks back and realizes that is the closest she has come to falling in love. In a small fit of rage she pours half the fags and scotch into the sink but stops herself before she pulls out her lighter. Instead she walks up to the roof and sits in a plastic lawn chair someone left up there. She sits there and sees all the cars passing though the city all headed somewhere they love to see some one they love. She realizes then she has a decision to make. She has to decide whether to go on like this, this nothing existence or stop it. She walks to the edge of the building and looks one more time to the neon signs and tail lights of cars leaving her behind. Her toes curl over the edge as she lights up her last fag. She leans forward barely whispering “One, two, three, here I come.” as she drops the bottle, lighter, and empty pack of fags off the edge. She turns away smiling, brushes her hands off and walks back down to her apartment ready to start again.





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