Driving home, I have the time to think about random or pointless things. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself for having to be driving from a job I never envisioned having, let alone keeping for an extended time. The cars I see on the drive tend to be law enforcement types until I get close to home and pass the bars and strip club.
I feel sorry for myself more times than I'd like to admit, but of late I feel lucky with my trivial matters of pity. I'm very much alive and have a home with a wife and three children that want me to be in their lives. Sure we have issues about money never being aplenty, but I have friends who are widowed, divorced, or hooked up to tubes.
Prince died alone in elevator within his huge home. His music will live on, but what of him will be remembered. He was a weird little dude.