My father use to tell me to never forget the small things in life, you never know when it will drift away into the darkness. I had wasted many aimless nights sitting in a dark lit room, lighting up and drinking the last sips inside the bottle. It was only a year ago to this day that I said my final good-byes to my father, resting his hopes of a better world inside a wooden box. I was a high prospect agent for the FBI, I was something in this world till I left things unwatched; didn’t even see my wife leave. I left home with nothing in my pocket, no badge of honor from the FBI. I was heading south with a half tank of gas inside the truck, with no map in my reach; I was driving blind through the empty highways. It wasn’t long before I came across the old farm my father left behind, shattered windows, unhinged doors, and the old creaking porch laid only few steps from where I stood. I couldn’t really come to terms with the fact, that I had finally made it home. Here I was far away from hopes and dreams.