Dreams Canceled

The black path. The curtains dulling from sunlight fading them to a mundane gray. The shoes stained with grime and mud and even dust from the constant pounding of a 220 pound man's size 13 feet smashing them against the pavement. The toe of the shoes opening to say "Hello" from the weakened soles. Shoestrings were once a royal blue hue that paralleled that same color of a fresh Dodger cap; now torn and ripped by the cement's wolfish bites. The cup with old Kool-Aid residue from nights past still sits there; no longer clean. 22 years older; nearly 23. Alcohol and inertia mixed in one combo beating his body with mountain-heavy weights of laziness. A blood test in 30 minutes; no, it's gotta be canceled. Yes...it must be canceled.