...and so you've reached the fork in the road.
there's the bridge to society, the tried and true path to the comfort of a big house and fat wallet. the bridge to your perfect future.
or you can take the leap, step off into the oblivion that has swallowed countless lives, the imperfect path that threatens the balance between pride and motivation. to see just how far the rabbit hole goes.
you prepare yourself for the big moment. you shrug off the shadow of a doubt, because it will decide if you're falling to your doom or flying above the rest. you close your eyes, and the last words that run through your head are not words of panic, they are words that define your very being.
"i'd rather be forgotten than remembered for giving in."

on a cruise, at port in key west. leaving my room:

do i have my key? yes.
walk.
pass quarreling puerto-rican family, the littlest kid is crying.
walk.
pass cute girl in hallway, smile.
walk.
arrive at elevators, look at map.
where's the cabana club?
floor five.
where am i?
floor seven.
fuck the stairs.
press down button.
spot cruise staff member. nametag states that he is, coincedentaly, puerto-rican. he is pushing a luggage rack full of little fake stone walls.
wait forever.
elevator arrives.
i point it out to him and he nods greatfully.
we board the elevator. i ask him what floor he wants. he holds up three fingers. maybe he doesn't speak english.
press three.
we descend.
on floor four we stop. a little fat kid boards the elevator. he presses eleven.
you asshole.
we go up seven floors.
fat kid disembarks.
down eight floors.
i'm polite and let the puerto rican man off first. i step out and realize i'm on floor three, not five.
fuck i'm high.