A scene in a bus. Wherever this bus takes me. Flashback to a conversation at a bar. Continued conversation in the bus.

I am too self-involved to write about anything other than myself. Lying in a cold corner of the street. With every huff of breath in my chest. I sleep in winter nights with nothing to cover my naked soul. I wake up drenching in sweat from a nightmare. Broken bottles and shattered dreams all scream in mourning. Opened books and burnt letters read of regret. Just like a seed turns into a tree. We carry evolution on our backs. With a knack for catastrophe.

A young boy was climbing a snowy mountain. He slipped and was free-falling from a great height. Though he could have at least participated but he had no courage.