The storm trooper costume was somewhat of a joke between us friends. When we were 20, we dreamed of buying houses full of useless merch that fans buy out of love for something, but really just feeds the capitalist machine. Those friends are gone now and so are those dreams. The apartment is bare and empty, save for rusty heater that groans like an old drunkard, the hard bed in the corner next to the window that lets in the cold winter air and the single chipped wood table that wobbles on its uneven legs. There isn't even a lighter for the cigarettes.

I wonder how much Darth Vader paid his storm troopers? I wonder what it would be like to be in that suit, firing guns at Jedi Knights but not really hitting anything. I wonder what it will be like to be on spaceships travelling between galaxies and different points of the universe at light speed, setting eyes on new planets and whole new species that may range from space worms to aliens with higher intelligence.

Then again, there was that possibility that I could die. I was part of an intergalactic army after all. I'd be no match for a Jedi and i'd probably have no idea how to work my own weaponry. You probably can't smoke or drink, either-- lest you wish to incur the wrath of Darth Vader but... despite all that, I'd still take it over all of this grimey ****.

After all, anywhere was better than here.