The house I grew up in is a typical, american built home. It aged poorly, and over time, the floors began to sag and settle. It bore the weight of it's age… it's trauma. As I got older I tried to spend less time there, preferring to drive aimlessly to pass the time and wasting a lot of gas going absolutely nowhere. It's taken me until almost 40 to come to the realization that the house is just a building, containing an energy. My real home was the people who cared about, and loved me. Not because they had to, but because they wanted to. I largely abandoned those people right along with the building. I've been a shitty friend, and for that I apologize. Home doesn't have to be the broken place you left.

If you choose to be something today… Be Abrasive.