Here I lay, in my hotel room, sprawled out on the fold out sofa bed. Out of my window, the cries of sirens. Looking down, I see hundreds of worms crawling through the biggest apple in america. Faceless to me; faceless to each other. Monotonically weaving their way amongst the crowd. Their personalities contained until the sun sets, when they are back with their family. For now, it is only work.

A sickly man, rags for clothes, stumbles along the sidewalk. His unheard cries bounce off the walls of the concrete jungle. The lack of food in his stomach tears at his naval. The nights getting colder. A crippling feeling, both emotionally and physically. He is one of many.

Up inside my hotel room, the real tragedy. Crumpled paper lines the floor, of meals once enjoyed. I plunge my hands in to the red cardboard container. Feeling nothing of interest, my eye begins to water. In a blinded rage, I throw the container across the room, the golden arches tumbling to the ground. Empty.

I'm not lovin' it.

-Ryan Garden


A true story, written as it occurred.

I'm an attention whore that makes blogs that no one cares about.
The End.

Just ordered these bitches off teh interwebs. Be jealous.

My new years party was good times.
But my fucking videogame got broke.

Happy 2010.
Now to drink orange juice and chill.

Finally got a phone, FUCKIN ABOUT GOD DAMN TIME!
Text me/Comment yo numba!
403 690 6480