Dark. Purple Night. I stood on an empty street corner beneath a lonely, cheerful street lamp. A bottle in my hand, a freshly fallen snowflake on my head. I looked up to see the winter precipitation spawning toward me; there were no pink roses.

Without moving my feet I began floating down the street. I felt like infinity trapped within an anecdote. I felt as though a bear in a birdcage must have felt, but with the glimmering ray of hope that the door would soon burst open. Dry cereal had taken control of my thoughts; however, the beer promptly washed that away. . .