I lumber around people I do not know. Deep Midwest grey slit through the long Venetian blinds on the wall of glass ahead. A parking lot, the sprawl, beyond.

Hands off management style. AEM logins. JIRA. Skype. Something called Yammer. This is how you pay your rent. In a benign beige box with a big black plastic brick in front of you. Pushing pixels, “code monkey.”

Five years alone feels like a lifetime and I no longer think of the girl in another city. My foot still hurts from time to time and my gut bulges with the beer and binges and bouts of self doubt. Rejections start to feel normal, like a funeral for a friend.

I dream that my father died. The previous nights beer, pizza, and hot wings dissolving into a semi-sober slumber and flushing deep fears from the subconscious. I always dream about the same places. Kind of amalgamations of places I’ve known before. I’m always driving from the back seat, and the breaks never work. I’ve never had a dream where my teeth fall out, though.

LinkedIn profile updates, likes and messages from former colleagues. People pining for online approval except they all seem to have exactly what I want.

Grass is green, on every side.

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