You step out your front door in Brooklyn and just start walking in any general direction. A couple of hours later, you find that you've strolled over the Brooklyn bridge and all the way to Union Square in Manhattan.
Walking away from everything only seems to bring it closer on your heels. The hot breath of failure condenses on your neck, and the crushing weight of loss bears upon your every step.
In the end, the paths we choose seem inconsequential. No matter how far you roam, your stride will never elude the shadow of your own miserable history.
