Entry 6

On the tram home at 2 am a man smiles at me, his eyes tell me that the smile is false.

He reeks of weed and booze, stumbles over his feet as he gets up to leave and is unsteady like a child learning to walk for the first time.

I envy his bravado, I know that no one on the tram at this time of night headed in that direction is truly happy with the outcome of their lives.

Yet he walks with his head held high and a pep in his wobbly step.

I begin to hate him.

I hate his arrogance,

I hate the way he deludes himself into contentment with a bottle,

and falsifies reality with a joint.

I hate that we exit at the same stop and walk in the same direction.