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  • An empty parking lot. Barren, except for the ever resilient weeds that somehow manage to grow from cracks in concrete. Lines have long since fades away. Shopping carts sit abandoned in the rusted corral. Doesn't look like anyone has been here in years. Perfect. An old Circuit City store has begun to decay, and is being taken back by nature. Weeds and vines grow up the walls. Looks like home. I was getting sick of Toys 'R Us anyway. After a month in there, you start to go crazy.

    I decided to get a change of scenery. I gathered supplies, and found this old, empty Circuit City. Like always, I found my way onto the roof, and began to work.


    Four holes drilled into the roof make it easier to knock out a panel. Once that was out, I found myself in the old stock room of Circuit City. It seemed like the left in a damn hurry, because all the shelving was still there, and a bunch of boxes as well. I climbed down, and surveyed the area. Since the entire sales floor was empty, I chose a spot under the stairwell. It was less visible. I knocked down some drywall, and found my new home: a 4' x 10' cave under the stairs.

    So I entered and sat there, scanning every inch of the cave. Nothing special. Some rat droppings and cobwebs. Nothing that couldn't be fixed. It was silent, the kind o silence that drives me to insanity. You can hear a pin drop and your own heart beat in your chest. For an hour I sat there, quiet. That wasn't what bothered me. Brandon, my son, was all alone. He had no father in his life. And its all my fault. How could I abandon him, leaving him like that? He deserved better.

    As Mitch sat there hunched against that wall, he fought, and fought hard, to hold back tears. While it was a valiant effort, he fought a losing battle. Even with no one watching him, he turned to a corner, and wept. Loudly.

    "I'm sorry Brandon. I'm sorry my son."

    He whispered to himself to try and calm himself down. It didn't work. The tears hit the floor like hail. Pathetic, he sat against the wall and cried.
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