His Starbucks cup reads, "Jim," in black, bold letters. A stack of binders, news papers, and journals mark his territory on the cluttered little table, but his leather messenger back is already slung across his shoulders as if he is ready to bolt. He's pushing through a newspaper- glancing around as if he's waiting for something to happen. Finally, he stands up, stretches above the seated crowd and discards his empty coffee cup. He bundles his stack of papers and goes, leaving only a few sheets of newspaper that he didn't care to keep. Gone, not to be remembered. Just like the rest of us.
How many times do we go through the daily motions of life, and can't help but feel we are missing something? Us humans are doomed to an eternity of feeling empty- after all, our entire existence is built upon attempting to achieve an unwritten goal. We don't know where the future will bring us, but we like to pretend that we know what we're doing. Story of our lives.
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