This is an entry from my diary in 2017."I got up around eleven forty-six and ate some cold pizza. At eleven fifty I checked my e-mail to see if my song had won a radio contest. It didn't. "Huh," I said to myself. I put on my favorite Elliot Smith album for a while and stared at the carpet. It smelled like 1998, but the tag said it was made in 2001. The rigid threads of the carpet left an imprint on my skin, and it looked like I had a tropical infection. It was twelve seventeen now and I realized that I had to make the day pass. I hate weekends; I have nowhere to go because all of my friends are dead. Aren't school-shootings just peachy? I work at a deli that primarily sells honey glazed hams. I earn a modest amount of money. My boss is a big fan of post-modern art, and to "motivate" us he had a picture of Jesus rendered in CG technology that came out in 1995. While my iconoclastic co-workers were terrified by this image, I found it kind of amusing. Jesus looked so sad, yet he had a loaf of bread in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other."
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