Cross road?

What is around the next dark corner and do I really care? I guess I do, I don't know. I am often too cynical and lethargic to pursue any avenue. All my heroes turned out to be anti-heroes which turns out to equal drunk shut-ins. I am a romantic in thought alone. I always end up being a realist to a fault.

Chase down your dreams and end up drunk and regretful. I thought Jack had it right following a dream and just living. Drunk and alone at the end. Cirrhosis got 'em. Hunter, the honorary doctor, giving the finger to almost everybody. A life of mayhem and insanity for the sake of insanity, shoots himself. Hemingway was a man of adventure and life. On safari and secluding himself on an island far from all the crap. Again, a shotgun ended his journey.

Is it something to do with insignificance after all the time spent really blazing your own trails. Maybe you just need to believe, more than anything, that it is worth something in the end. For now I will continue to whistle and just be me. The weight of accomplishment and riches is greatly overrated. I guess it all comes down to the last chapter. Do you right the end or some "to be continued" third person narration. My narrator is hopefully a weathered old story tellin' man like Waylon Jennings. You know, like when he did the Dukes of Hazzard. "Looks like them Duke Boys are in a mess of trouble".