I would like to take a somber moment of acknowledgement. In our fair cities, and in most I find, there is a poor soul that lives a twisted life. It stubbornly persists with seemingly no other purpose than stubbornly persisting.

You’d figure at some point the endless fighting against the flow on society would break it, or at least slow it down.

On the contrary, fighting is what gives it the strength to fight. This circular logic drives the helpless chap into a rut that would send most men mad. Maybe the unsung rebel is strong enough to resist the appeal of a fractured mind. Maybe the rebel was fractured long ago. Yet every time I question the motivation, my words fall on deaf ears. Maybe you’ll listen. If so, why?

Why won’t the wheel on my shopping cart go straight?

Did I offend it? After all, it’s under the crushing weight of my soup cans and funions. What gives me strength breaks it down.

Does it constantly want to turn towards the junk food isle because self-indulgence is the only way it feels anything anymore? Perhaps after years of being pushed around it finally wants to take some semblance of power for itself.

If that is the case I suppose the only power it has is the power to resist mine. A ying to my yang, a Newtonian push against my pull, the wheel rebels as it will. That one wheel that refuses to go straight and I perfectly embody universal dichotomy.

Whatever the reason, it has to have had a troubled life. It has seen horrors — from snotty kids to sticky floors to Black Friday riots. A guy can only take it for so long I guess. I pity it really. My heart goes out to you, you annoying son of a bitch.