Goodbye, My Home

There it is, up on the hill. I don't know what the hell I'm gonna do anymore, but I know it's gonna fail.

I wish I could have been Bruce Wayne, living in Wayne manor, running the family business. If I could do it all again, I'd do it right. I could walk into the place for the first time, know what it was for, not take it all for granted. The lawyers have it now. They'll do whatever the hell they want with it.

So I'm moving into some shit hole. What could compare to having my own mansion? I was gonna look for a place to live, but it seemed like too much trouble, and some old friend of my parents has a place for rent. I'll live there for a while, then I'll do something else. It doesn't matter.

My whole life, I've been moving from one place to another. Wherever I went, whatever went wrong, I could count on my parents to bail me out. I was another one of their charitable institutions. Now I'm someone else's hard luck case, someone who doesn't give a shit if I live or die. He just let me rent from him as a favor to my parents. We'll see how long that holds out. Would anyone care if I did die? Maybe I could leave something to charity. They're not getting my money as long as I need it, but when I'm gone, it might as well go to someone besides the lawyers. Would that be enough of a good deed to get the house back?