In an emergency, take the stairs

In retrospect, it didn’t really help much, and I kind of wish I’d sued the pants off the sign company. I’d been out of luck for a few months. I lost my job, my wife left me, and then things really started to get bad. One night, I was in a seedy part of town, looking for somewhere I could sleep. There was a girl, oddly dressed for the time of year, but pretty in a strained sort of way. She said “What is it you’re looking for, honey?”.

“I don’t know, salvation of some kind. My life is a mess”, I replied.

“Well, maybe you’ll find the answer inside, sugar.”

And I did. Or at least I thought I had. Looking back it might have had something to do with the bottle and a half of Jack Daniels that was all that remained of my old life, but it really did seem like a good idea at the time.

There was a sign on the wall, promising help. I followed it to the letter. I took them out, one by one. I went back every day for a month. I even made sure to start at the top. But in the end those damn stairs never helped me at all.

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