Hovel Of Hope

*I wrote this one in 36 minutes, no editing.

Landon put the pencil and sketchbook down on the wicker table directly to his left, leaned back and rubbed his eyes. He's been at this for years now and the only visible improvement is his lack of frustrations over his lack of improvement.

He leaned back in his worn-out wooden rocking chair, the only piece of furniture, the only memento in fact, he had of his grandparents, who both passed when he was still a baby, and allowed himself a couple of slow, deep breaths before regaining his composure.

After all, he bought this small, two bedroom cabin overlooking the hills of the Adirondacks out in Essex County strictly for the picturesque beauty in abundance. The previous owner put the three-acre land on the market expecting whoever dotted their name to the sale to demolish the property and put up something a little more modern or at least in tune with the owner, but Landon insisted upon keeping the small, rustic cottage in tact..

“It's charming,” Landon remembered saying. “Its character bodes well with its surroundings.

Having been a slave to the cannibalistic demeanor of the big city of New York for over half a decade, Landon felt it was the right time to abandon the warmth and decadence of a well-paying job and return to his more primitive roots. His parents, both products of the counter-culture movement of the 60s, always prided themselves for their reliance on the bare necessities or what they described as “basking in the warmth of nature's bosom”, and they were both adamant in passing down this manner of basic self-reliance to their only child – Landon, hence the name.

“Mother Nature doesn't demand capitalistic tactics to enjoy her fruits,” They would tell him to the point where he was so humiliated by their free-spirited ways that he left home right after High School (which they tried to dissuade him from attending) and did not speak to them for several years.

He left his hometown of Burlington, Vermont to join the quasi-robotic stream of briefcase walkers parading down Wall Street with a purpose. He worked hard, talking orders as efficiently as he barked them, earning himself a modest yet sizable income, but the longer he indulged in all those things his parents tried so desperately to warn him about, the more he hated himself and hated his parents for speaking so truthfully and being so right.

It wasn't long after his yearning for a more pastoral environment took hold to the point where he became completely disinterested in the lifestyle he worked so diligently to attain. He began repairing the bridge he collapsed with his parents and also started removing himself both physically and emotionally from the drudge of the big city. Spending his free time browsing the classifieds, he started yearning for a sign, any sign, that he wasn't crazy for wanting to leave all this behind. That's when he saw the small ad for a quaint cabin in complete and therapeutic isolation from the real world. Without even thinking twice, he called the number accompanying the ad and introduced himself and his intentions. Within a week he had quit his job and arranged for the majority of his luxuries to be boxed up and dropped off to various charities around the city (“At least they'll starve in front of a 57-inch color TV,” he joked to the mover, who smirked and shock his head in an exaggeratedly sympathetic manner). What was left was whatever he was able to cram into his Jeep Cherokee, and with a flick of a switch to off, he shut the door to his oversized loft in Manhattan, dropped the key off to Santo, the Concierge roaming around in the lobby, and sped off to start his new life.

Nowadays Landon spends most of his time embracing that which he came so dangerously close to losing. He has tried and failed to hone his artistic side and duplicate the scenic tranquility via pencil and paper, but no matter how many times he tries, he just can't seem to adequately pay tribute to the serenity it provides.

Yet, above all, no matter how aesthetically overwhelmed or content he may be, there's one though that continually permeates throughout his inner-being.

“Goddam I miss Cocaine and prostitutes...”