The day started with the usual. I guess you could say this wasn't the worst day. Certainly not the best, but not the worst. At this point, I think I've lost track of what should be a "good" day. The only person I feel might understand the slightest of this confusion is that old man, Spencer? I think that's his name. Maybe it's Harold. He just seems like he gets it. He's one of the only people in this hole of a town that doesn't feel the need to ask me how I am every day. I wonder how long it will take people to figure out that living behind an abandoned building with the constant aroma of the Castle Apartment's dumpster doesn't exactly allow for a good day.
Mmm, bananas. That was the aroma that woke me up this morning. It reminded me of that banana pudding my mom made me once. Eight years passed and I can still taste it. She never was a great chef, but that pudding was the best. That dumpster tends to bother me, not because of its smell or the fact that I have yet to see a truck empty it out this past month, but because of its increasing habit of nagging me with the nostalgia. That's what I hate most about this town, I think. It's just crawling with people, smells, smiles, laughter, happiness, and an endless need to communicate. The school I could have, should have gone to. The apartments I could have lived in. The families I could have been a part of. Well, I guess I'll just stick to my low maintenance lifestyle of nature. Besides, I've always got Spencer. Or Harold.
