When I was young, I did a lot of stupid things. For example, I went to college, studied a major that I hated for four years, slept with women I don’t like, and accepted a job just for its salary.

I had to make ends meet, back in those days. I studied, worked ten hours per week, then cared for my family. Whenever I came back to my apartment, I just complained to my roommates how stupid this is.

My roommates would say, yeah, bud, it sucks. We drank a pack, threw some music, and lost there, speaking out random stuff in our minds.

They never got me, I tell you. And I’m sure I was not a good listener for them plenty of times.

When I was young, I did a lot of stupid things, such as buying a photobooth.

I never know what I was thinking about. When I took it back, Jake jumped out of couch and ask me what is that.

It’s a photobooth, mate. I shrugged.

Jake looked around. Well, put it in the corner then. I loved how he throw all Nathan’s thing in front of his bathroom.

The photobooth. Bright red with London written all over its soul, appeared absurdly in a crammed apartment, curled in the corner across TV. Peter loved it, Jake and Nathan just thought it was fun. We went in there, when we lost games, faked calls, or just for some alone time.

I never expected that I wanted to leave. I never expected I was the only to leave.

I was the last one to move from the apartment. Me and photobooth, we stood there, stupidly looking at each other.

When I was young, I did a lot of stupid things.

Imma take this buddy to Grahams Hill. I thought.

There I was. Gasping, arms heavy like iron. Finally I’m here. At the pinnacle of the city. Rows of lights were connected and blended into a polluted ocean. Distant noises still rustled on my nerves, jumping around like kids spoiled. Trees and greens were attention-seeking monsters surrounded by square buildings that did not make sense in every possible linguistic angle. I thought I was a streetlight too, cleaned and maintained every day, whose mundanity served to the splendor of this night.

I grabbed my marker, writing on the photobooth with all my force. I wrote so hard. I wrote with all my anger, frustration, rage, confusion, dedication, joy, regret, resentment. I wrote with all the questions and quests, of why I was flowing against the progressing time.

“Jon.”

I sealed the photobooth. Circled it around and around with tapes.

Tomorrow is another day.