Like a lucid dream I found myself sauntering in the gritty streets. Downtown LA’s clash of modern and dilapidated buildings, the uptight and hollow people, the overwhelming trash, and the smog all perpetuating distant feelings. In a flash it became 7 AM on a Wednesday, I awoke to the breaking of ground, the hard concrete shattering like glass under the drill; the pounding reverberating through my undisturbed space. The hot and heavy sun ripped through my sealed shades illuminating my immaculate mundane walls. It had an asylum like feel, driving the synapses in my brain far from insane. I had fallen asleep with no recollection of the night before, I wasn’t drunk but I was still high, still not enough to forget yesterday’s mishaps. I walked out into the ***** kitchen, not my dishes and not my mess. The garbage had been piling up for what seemed like a month, beer cans and pasta stuck to the carpet like glue on paper. I drank my coffee and I ate my breakfast alone, the house was a dump by any means, potentially able to be something else but not. It felt like we were on the verge of Cool Whip and Wonder Bread sandwiches, like Heinz ketchup on macaroni; you could say we lacked a certain taste and quality. It felt like rubbing Crisco instead of baby oil on her body, it all amounted to a lesser substance than we all could fathom. We became complacent and insincere towards the world; it could have been the apocalypse and we still would have been the same. There was no security, there was no protection and future if we couldn't even deal with our selves. We all aspired to an opulent existence and an equal stake in this burdened world, it being not even remotely conceivable. We walked over the dead and those waiting to die, in hopes that we were worthy of more. The blankness took root over my Wednesday and I had nothing to show, who knew what future I would own. All I had was this ***** ole house, and a shared space that I could no longer bare.