Rare or Unreleased 26: Your Only Friend

The guy—probably middleaged, but looking older—was sleeping in the park, oblivious that the patch of sun had turned into cold shade. Every once in a while he'd make sounds intelligible only as plagued pleadings and aggressive recriminations as he half-woke and tossed a little.

How many tough breaks, how many faults and failures… how much resignation, quitting and bitter, spiteful self-destruction had accompanied him to this point, as he'd childishly sabotaged his own existence so that others couldn't take credit for any happiness, but rather be blamed for his misery?

Now he probably only has his drink, junk or prescription pills, all the people he once knew either dead, busy with marriages, children & careers—or as alone as he is, but separated from each other by irreperable, mutual betrayals (real or imagined). Wasted lives waiting to go, riding out the survival instinct…

As for your only true friend, there's always music. People come and go.

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