He sat up quickly and looked down at his 21 year old feet

He somehow knew that these feet would be able to recollect and support his life in a way he’ll probably never fully understand

In the doorway was the apparition of kindness, staring at him with such painful contempt

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever recover but he knew his choices were no greater than the number one

With his left leg still tingling from the knee down to the end of his biggest toe

He grabbed the corner of the dresser, knocking over all the pictures of his understatedly estranged father

His mom who had a big heart but always seemed to just be half a click in the red

His twin older sisters that had begun their cycle on earth 15 years before him

Such a distance in age that he wondered if the whole thing had been concocted to make him feel falsely whole

As he hobbled over to the door

He stopped in the doorway bracing himself

More like catching himself

Out of breath already?

Fuck it

Let’s get this show on the road

Down the old victorian stairwell he went

Intimidated by his less than formidable depth perception

He could feel his leg arguing with him the value and purpose of being alive

If life and everything contained therein is a cycle then nothing is new

He was promised a jetpack and all he got was an action figure

No matter, he was almost down to the kitchen

A place crawling with silver appliances that cooked up processed commercialism

New. Improved. Fat Free. Organic. Cage Free. Open Range. More Fiber. Hormone Free.

He pulled one the boxes out of the cabinet and poured 8oz. of tasty fruity logos, commercials, and banner ads into a bowl

Tags: 47, business, marketing, products, rich harris