Herson-Ortolan, Ezekiel 
  10/04/07  
 Creative Writing II  
 1st Period 
 THE ABANDONMENT 

  	 Life sucks, the man thought to himself.  A twenty-three year old squatter, his whole life seemed to be a giant search.  Looking for something- whether it was in someone else, something else, or his own self, he didn’t know.  He just needed something to fill in that cumbersome, gaping hole of meaning.   

  	 Sitting down on the cold concrete curb, watching the occasional car rush by and the golden fall leaves that rustled up in the process.  In the morning, when he wasn’t working his shit office job, when he wasn’t hanging with his bitch girlfriend, when he wasn’t absorbing the bullshit everyone seemed to love throwing at him- he sat here, on this curb leading to his apartment.  Puffing on his pack of cigarettes. 

  	 There was something about smoking that had always attracted him.  The cigarette provided nothing to him.  It wasn’t comfort, it wasn’t a high, it was just the act.  Just doing something stupid and meaningless, something that never got him anywhere- but it didn’t need to, a stupid meaningless thing to look forward everyday.  The moments he had with his cigarettes had become more important to him then his moments with his girlfriend- more real then her.  The cigarettes weren’t smothered with the fake societal bullshit he hated.  He knew cigs were unhealthy, knew they were a money pit, knew they had virtually no beneficial aspect to them, and yet he continued to puff away on the curb- not caring.  It was like a mutual agreement of unaccomplishment, and that was real to him. 

 ** 
  	 Evan Mary Jackobson?  

  
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