he only goes outside at night. when people are mostly asleep, he walks the streets to find a world at its stillest. the light above illuminating objects and singling them out, raising them above their normal status. fumbling through abandoned bars and parking lots he is at peace. this is the world when it is safe for him.
it was a while ago that he found he could not face people anymore. the looks, real or not, haunted him and caused him to doubt of himself . doubting has been the regular thing for so long that moments of respite make breathing feel like the greatest thing in the world. this is the world that tom found himself in.
tom was pleased to be alive in the technological age. he ordered everything to his home and rarely had to go out during the day. he thought of the home as a caretaker. he would read ballard books with glee and understanding. the poetry of someone who understands. this was a far cry from his youth.
as a teenager, he was outgoing and popular. it seemed he could do no wrong. as an adult he had a memory of every false move he made, every wrong turn. he should have been more. she should have loved him. he could have done it all. he knew how it all sounded in his head. he laughed about it, but embraced the life of a recluse non the less.
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