Hungry, Lonely

Where’d I Go?

In accordance with my recently scribed equation about food and friends I left my apartment at 8pm to eat away my loneliness. A slice of pizza and half a donut in my stomach and another slice of pizza and another donut and a half in bags in my hand I started to journey home. On approaching Prospect Park I thought it wise to cut my travels shorter by shortcutting through the greenery so that my pizza may hopefully maintain some of it’s warmth for when it began its travels through my guttyworks.

My first obstacle came in the way of a fence. It was just high enough to prevent me from being confident in my ability to hurdle it, and just flimsy enough to prevent me from attempting to climb it. So after discarding my foodstuffs and jacket on the other side, shaking the fence to test its stability, and rubbing my hands together as if the friction would cause a fire of confidence to push me onto the other side I tried to accomplish a mix of climbing and hurdling which ended in a mix of falling and faceplanting. I turned around to see a woman and her dog 10 feet behind me staring disapprovingly at my breaking of rules in such an embarrassing way. I scampered off only to see a twin obstacle standing in my way. I went through the same routine, grabbed my ever-coldening food and briskly paced in the direction of my abode.

The path that I had decided to take was a small, winding, barely paved road through the middle of the woods. Only my open cell phone provided light to guide my way. I started to remember that this wasn’t the dark woods of my rural Maine upbringing, but rather the dark woods of an urban park where people get murdered and raped. I’m typically not scared of muggings and such because the probability of it happening is so low, but with picth black around me I started to imagine scary scenarios. Every rock became a huddled homelessman ready to pounce on my naive body with a knife. Every rustling animal became the scampering feet of my stalker.

Finally a light at the end of my winding path brought me up to a fearful jog toward the opening. But this light was not the light from a local business that I hoped but the back of a house enjoying the cheerful screams of a party. As the party goer’s chanted “so good, so good, so good” in response to what Sweet Clementine was, I looked for solace in the half donut I hadn’t finished yet.

Once again I approached a path that I thought would lead me to my home, but it involved a thicket of dark woods again, so I instead opted for the longer approach of walking around. At this point it had already been an hour walk, why not add an extra half hour to this typically 20 minute journey. 30 minutes and a scamper through a playground later I found myself back on the grid system. I thanked a passerby that I had made it and looked up to the street signs to see where I was.

Though I had attempted to use a shortcut, I had somehow wound up 5 blocks further away from my destination.

My friends are better navigators than pizza and donuts.

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