I woke up lonley. Looking around my empty room, I had to think aloud, "what day is it?" It felt like a Thursday, but I couldnt tell for sure. I walked to my refrigirator and opened the door to nothing but wine. Thats okay, I thought, i'd rather be drunk than starving. As I stood back up with the wine, I read the yellow sticky note on the freezer door, next to pictures of love once lost.

"Figure out what made the baby boomers become disillusioned with their lives"

I stared it down.

It was the summer of some year, I couldnt care less. I rolled a cigarette, and thought about my peers. The youth of today. All the prolific writers. All the suburban slime, bitching about the faux problems that they bring on and continue in their dogmatic way of living. The war. Unemployment. Their self-brought on jaded state. I couldnt help but think they became jaded because their parents have discovered the death of the American Dream. As I lit my cigarette, the loose tobacco burned off and fell to the ground.

I walked outside for the first time in days, to find out that it was extremely sunny outside. I drank from the wine bottle and looked around. Kids were playing. Overambitious assholes were sitting in the grass reading Kerouac. People in nice cars drove by. I walked over to Mikes apartment. Enter the actor.

Mike reminded me a lot of myself. We drank the wine and he opened another.

"I heard about a great get together going on tonight across town. We should go."