I am a nameless peon, my story while similar to those of others differs, like they no doubt believe theirs differs to my own.

I find the solitude of my garage comforting, soothing almost. A place so close but yet so distant to the place I call home. My only companion is the force of the elements crashing against the walls of the garage, almost conversing with me. That and my own conscience. This gives me a lot of time to think, an unfortunate consequence of my lonely solitude.

I light a cigarette, the nicotine rushing to my brain is a comforting change to the usual swirl of nonsense by Dylan, amongst others. I think about our kind, what we've achieved and what we are yet to achieve in our short time dominating the Earth. I wonder if past civilizations have had similar existential crisis' leading to such pondering. Of course not, as we are, or rather led to believe that we are the only sentient beings with such trains of thought. I wonder to myself whether that is a beautiful gift or tormenting curse which haunts our feeble existence...

I find myself in a swell of depression led on by these wondering pondering thoughts of a nameless peon such as I, and I say to myself, why? I do not know what the why means or why I say it. I just know I want the ever elusive answer to my vague question of little value.

The cigarette burns low, the ash trickles down to my pants, time to go inside and face reality once more.

I am the very epitome of what most describe as a brooding teen, and as I brood my young mind trails to more thoughts, possibly to pass the time until morning.

I think of my mind and what it's capable of, the old wives tale that we only use twenty percent of our brain, huh, if you think that maybe you are only using a meagre twenty percent then maybe you actually are. But It leads me to think, what is my brain capable of ? Does it hold such powers as to let me control mine or others actions for better or worse ? I am exuberant at the very thought. Of course I know It's nonsense, I am told as such therefore it is so, right ? Who knows.

I take note of the belt which clings around my waist, My mind instantly gravitates towards the idea of suicide, not because I want to die, no, because I am curious of what lies beyond this meaty existence. As a devout atheist I can firmly say, nothing but that doesn't mean one cannot be curious, no?

After a while I decide to sleep to ease my thoughts, I undress down to my underwear to sleep in, a nights chill is always more comforting. My hopes of peace in sleep were misplaced, if anything this worsens the rapid swell of ideals and philosophies swirling around my skull, no peace only more unrest.

After a while I drift off, not happy with myself, why? Because I know the same drab rut of my routine begins again tomorrow and my trek to the garage for hopeful solitude begins anew.

I am a nameless peon, alone but yet not alone. Free but trapped by the constraints of my human body. I am a nameless peon and yet, I have a name.