Remember the boy next door that played records all day, and at night kept you up with songs of his own? He left home one day and was never heard from again. Some say he went to conquer the big city; living in cheap motels, eating dollar hamburgers, working the boulevard with ex-models, Thorazine freaks, transvestites, mothers, fathers, drunks, and junkies. Others say he died trying to reach his dreams, and some said that his crazy wide-eyed views led him to another dimension. What came of him, I don't think we'll ever know; except for this.

            I don't think walking is supposed to make you feel good. My stomach aches; maybe it's the french fries I ate back on Mason Street. I think I'll just drag myself into a bar and drown in some delicious booze; maybe my stomach pain will disappear then. Nice bar. There's some kind of happy mood to it, not like the usual which is depressing. I like it here.

            I wonder if I'll meet Ellie again, she was nice; she used to like bars, and always took me to the Helicopter on Height Street. She was a happy person, I always knew. The way she talked, the way she smiled, even the way she touched you had a certain happy feeling to it. I miss Ellie.

            What should I order? Jack, Vodka, all of it is just another way to get toxic waste in your system. No wonder our earth is so messed up. I wonder if I'll die soon. What would happen? Why do I have a pill in my mouth? It's not that I mind it, it's just that I can't remember when I put it there.

            Finally, my drink is here. Pill plus booze doesn't seem like the perfect combination, but how many times has this not happened to me, after I'll just remember drinking and nothing else. Complete darkness.

            There's a weird looking guy next to me; I wonder if he's a serial killer. Maybe he's just a student or a musician. I know I think the same thing about every person I see. I wish I was someone important, someone, famous. I don't think I'm crazy, why would someone say that? I think I have a pretty good functioning mind, although sometimes I think about hippos a lot. I think they are a fun animal. What if I was a hippo? "Hi ppo pot a mus."

            Syd was still searching for something, finding his way back home wasn't an easy thing.

             I like sitting here on this bench, in this train station, looking at people. Listening to them, talking to them, and watching the trains go by.

            Syd had no idea that people never sat next to him, he didn't know that there was nobody to listen to or to talk to.

            Trees are tired of providing us with oxygen. They told me they were tired. There's going to be a revolution soon, and I promised that I would be on their side and help them. The trees told me that they had no obligation to do anything for us, especially when we just kill them all. I think they are right, there's no way they are going to get any respect if they don't rebel. Anyways that's what I would do.

            That day, deep down in Syd's own mind, he heard a very familiar voice. He wasn't quite sure who it was, but he knew that voice. Saying over and over: "Please Syd, I beg you, come back, come back Syd". "It's okay, everything is going to be all right".

            Syd just shook this out of his mind and thought that maybe he was becoming crazy, but for days he wondered whom that voice belonged t. Ellie and I were the only people who knew about Syd. We were the only one who knew the true story. I could probably tell you what Syd did that day after he went "home" and how he got sick and all, but I don't feel like it. What I will say is that it was one hell of a bad trip.

            I wonder what time it is? I can't see any stars. It began to rain buckets. Everyone was running trying to find shelters under roofs, but I stuck around, I sat on the bench for quite a while. I got pretty soaking wet, especially my hair and my pants. I didn't care though. I felt so damn happy all of a sudden. I don't know why. It was really nice seeing Ellie in her blue coat going around and around. It was so damn nice. Gosh, I wish you could've been there.

            A lot of people, especially this one psychoanalyst guy they have here, keeps asking me what I am thinking about. I mean, seriously, what is his problem? He asks me what I did today, or what I am thinking that I want to do. This guy, Bob, I don't know if that's his name, but he looks like a Bob to me, I think he's crazy. I can't understand him. I mean how do you know what you are going to do until you do it? The answer is, you don't. I swear it's a stupid question. I wonder once again: what the hell happened?

            This was one of the very last times Syd wondered or said anything. I tried to invite you into his world. And I guess that's what it is, MY world.