My life has gotten cemented here, and I don’t know how. I was going to have a dead-end retail job for awhile, and write until I got famous. Then I was going to see the world. But it’s been one dead-end retail job after another, a few stories published in small-time magazines, haven’t been out of state in over a decade, and I’m stuck in this rut (and broke, for that matter). I’m as bad as the people sitting in cubicles, the people I was afraid of becoming. Maybe I should have done that; at least then I’d have money.