This is taken from my real life journal/scribble book

Blue chevron.
foodmart, and me.
sign inside says beer, in red, that's shorting out and blink
blink, blink, blink, blinking.
The man in the tan coat. old.
wishing he had done something differently sometime at some point in his life.
He is bent over and walking to his car/truck/van/something
And I will never see him again in my entire life.
So is he real? Does he cease to exist now that I cannot see him in the two white & glass doors at the front of the dentist's office that screams 1980s minimalism from Better Homes & Gardens.

Red truck.
Man in blue shirt.
Puts his sunglasses in his pocket.
This is life to me.
These cars and gas station and blink, blink beer is life to me.
I see it all as a movie, and I'm waiting for me.
Am I the protaganist?
Antagonist?
To throw myself against the glass and scream.
Scream and scream and scream outloud instead of just inside as I do.
I am the man in the cafe with the notebook who scribbles:
cafe mocha. where did i leave my black shirt?
This is an antithesis of life to me.
I am a ghost here in this moment
A sleepwalker waiting for the thunder that brings me to life.

The office is not life. Life to some and the gas station and the man and the sign.
Life to me is something else when I do things alone.
In little things meaning will appear that is NOT here now.
Some sort o fmeaning will come from NOT being in the room.
NOT being in the box with the glass doors watching puppets and shaddowmen play at life when they will never really know about life.
Life is running down the road and screaming and throwing open the doors in some self-conscious last ditch effort for sanity.

Sanity that does not exist in the gas station sign.