The American dream!

There's nothing quite like a beach chair with an attached umbrella, a cooler full of beer, your flip-flops, and a warm summer breeze blowing through the WalMart parking lot of some obscure, midsized town. For the sake of brevity, this beautiful WalMart parking lot is in shit-hole Warner Robins,Georgia, the most obscure of midsized towns.

Here and there are patches of green medians, illuminated by buzzing fluorescent lights, where thousands of moths slowly go extinct as they burn their little bodies out with a perpetual "tink-tink-tink", as they slam into the glass case surrounding the ugly ass bulb.

On some of the patches of grass grow delicate little soda cans, empty bottles, and McDickhole's wrappers that you threw there last week when you were drunk. Trees loom weakly, their roots unable to spread into the asphalt, over several trash filled hatchbacks, one of which was home to the rotting corpse of a 23 year old heroin-girl named Jenna.

Jenna was a real cutie after your aging heart, but the grip of the dragon had been too much, and no matter how many times you invited her into your RV to pray, or to beg her to quit, she always just went back to that yummy goodness, that big H, that delicious heroin! Oh, you remember it, don't you? Like warm and loving ants marching through your veins, like a rocket ship taking off, oh that first memory of pure bliss! WEEEEEEEEE! Those days are behind you, however.

Jenna's gone though. You were the one who found her liquified remains eating at her leather seats as she fell apart in your arms, and now there's some ragged out looking boomer who, from the collapsible stairs of his 1972 truckbed camper, drunkenly tells you that he was in the world's longest wrestling match. It's a weird flex, and you looked into it to see if it was true. Surprise! It wasn't. He says that he changed his name, though and it was actually him.

Nearby is a field full of tents. Most of them have been cleared by the Mongol hordes known as police, but a few bums have straggled back into the pile of trash to get their schizo belongings and mementos such as piss-jugs, from lives ruined by a broken society.

Sometimes you put your back to the traffic on Russell Parkway, close your eyes, and just listen to the chaos. Sometimes you look at it and wonder where everyone is going at 2 am. You drink your last 211 Tall Boy and fart, accidentally shitting your pants, but you don't care anymore. All your friends have moved on, your woman left you, your family sees you as a pariah.

Wasted, you meander into the muggy confines of your RV, leaving your new boomer neighbor to ramble drunkenly about how wrestling has changed, and you play Fortnite on WalMart wifi because you don't care what people think of you anymore.

This is the good ending. To die with your VA benefits in a WalMart parking lot, playing online video games, in a moldy RV.