43, 44, 45 I silently count the rain hitting the front window cars slowly inching their way past me. The radio echoes a commercial played twenty minutes prior and I am sure it'll play another twenty minutes in the future. It's difficult to think and admit that this is the greatest of my life. Sitting on the shoulder of a highway in the pouring rain, listening to advertisements for grocery stores. What happened to the self-made promises of a fabulous life of fame, riches, and beauty forever surrounding me? Silence is the only answer that comes to me.

I wish I knew at which moment excited gun hoe Neal became what gives a shit Neal, perhaps I could of changed my history. Though I know it was when my father disappeared, becoming alive only on fast scribbled post cards. But I won't tell anybody that. He was the jerk that ran, that destroyed his family by some damn desire. I wasn't suppose to care.

I was to be the Ivy League genius. Instead I failed out of community college. It was me that would marry a model. But instead Bill received that fucking honor. I walk in and out of jobs with the drop of the hat; I am too irresponsible for anything to remain stable. In my glove compartment lies a half-empty; never half-full bottle of scotch that I pour down my throat every night. Trying to make the pain, frustrations at the universe but more so myself vanish.

97, 98, 99.