His mind raced. War, politics, race relations… It all felt like the same boring bullshit. Like something that he had written about a million times before and could care less about writing about again.

He took a pull from his beer.

He wrote about the environment and then erased it. For a moment he considered an article about the state of music but then remembered that he had written about that not two months ago. He threw his hands up in anger. “What the fuck”, he yelled to no one in particular.

He finished his beer and then another. In this time he yelled and screamed and hated the world. He came just short of breaking the flat screen TV that his last free lance article for the Georgia Straight had bought him. Just short because, at the last moment, just before the hammer hit the screen, he figured it out.

This was not the time to discuss sports or politics. This was the time to get serious. This was the time to end his life and find a way to write about the world beyond.