Jim Gore

17 October 20XX

Convenience Store

NIHILISM

The first part is over, and now we’re in the long part. The rush came right on time and didn’t stay, like it never does. Now, we return to waiting for nothing to happen. I have an obligation to be paid for my personal sacrifices. It isn’t a choice, not at all. I have to be present, in this place, in some way or shape. Otherwise, I’m see-through.

I sometimes witness the lives of people like me: passionless cashiers, bored and dull young people, people who don’t care for anything except eating and fucking life away. ‘Cause my job, my worth must be watching and waiting to be told someone else’s reality; and if I’m being honest, part of me feels good giving sympathy; but part of me also feels like a doormat; and I also must be conceited for feeling good about myself for this.

My sacrifice is wasted, though. My time is wasted on mandatory voyeurism—my exchange for gas money—but I guess nothing much changes when I meet my peers or friends or whoever else on my own time. Because I’ve gotten in the habit of watching and encouraging passively the behaviors I think can result in something good. Let me do you a favor we don’t come back from.

Friendship—help each other move bodies or drive each other to work when we’re out of a car. Us five, we’re friends, and had I not been here, I’d have been with them. Maybe it’s just desperation. Though, I’d never tell them that, even if I did know.

I don’t hardly miss anything except spray-tan, cheap DVDs, stupid jokes, bootleg merchandise and farmers’ market T-shirts. I don’t hardly miss anything worth having, but then, it’s all I got goin’ on right now, so what the hell? Keep it up, keep on, the circle will close again. I’ll be there this time to see it all.

No words are wasted. I’ll tell ‘em all tomorrow, just you wait.