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When I was nineteen, I owned the world.

Today, I own a bike.

Well I stole that, actually, from a twelve year old kid who didn’t bother locking it up.

When I was twenty, I had a balance in my bank account with more zeros attached to it than I own articles of clothing today. When I turned twenty-one, I spent more on booze in one night than passes through my fingers in a year. Maybe even longer.

When I was thirty-one, I owned three houses and six cars.

At thirty-two, I lost it all. One stupid move and I lost everything I had.

This morning, I woke up under the pier, wrapped in a city-issued blanket. As it turns out, owning the world means nothing when you’re stupid enough to piss it all away...