In this particular dismal urban conglomeration of steel and concrete, masses of residents come and go, their dreams and defeats all saddled about their persons in invisible bundles. Good eggs and bad eggs, makes no difference. In this city, where hope goes to die and the only true park is so far removed that many don't associate it with the dreadful place, whether by luck, fate, a greater plan, some vicissitudes, or their own stupid choices, these humans find out just what kind of eggs they are. For the sake of the plot, it will be called A Collection of Strange Circumstances. Whatever explanation floats their boat.
It all boils down to this: someday, when they will have to sit or lie down in the dark and reflect on their life, they will either come to regret their choices to their dying breath, or their only regret is that their dying breath came too soon.
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YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Strange Circumstances
HumorOne city. 4 clueless lives intersecting. "[W]hether by luck, fate, a greater plan, some vicissitudes, or their own stupid choices, these humans find out just what kind of eggs they are."
