2. Transitions (Not Anymore)
Remember when you were seven and you used to think that monsters lived under your bed. Your mother bought you a nightlight, but somehow that made it worse. Now you could see the shadow monsters on the wall.
Remember when you were eight and you moved to America. Your father ran away with his secretary, and your mother couldn't speak a word of English.
Remember when you were sixteen and you snuck out of your room to go clubbing. You walked past dark alleys hurriedly, with words like "rapist", "mugger" and "murderer" going through your head at twenty miles an hour.
Remember when you were twenty-two and your boss says, "You're fired." But then he adds, "Unless you don't want to be." And your boss is forty, balding, married with three kids. He has a Dalmatian named Pongo, and goes to watch his son play baseball on the weekends.
Remember when you lived in a flat without hot water, with cracking walls and peeling paint, but still struggling to make ends meet. You ate canned food, and worked night shifts in a bar.
Remember when your mother died in debt, leaving you nothing.
Remember when you were human.
Not anymore.