Dash of Diatribe Drama

It was four o'clock and he had just finished another miserable day in the bank fraud department. Lackadaisical and loathing in nature, he knew he must soon return home to his second best, second rate never to be fully committed to Joe.

So he picked up his handheld device and dropped in once again upon a blog he loved to love and loved to hate at the same time. A place where the man he once loved blogged about it all, the good, the bad, the ugly and the nothings that mattered to no one else but Ryan.

There he found letters and poems, grocery store farce and cleverly invented dialogue, with a dash of diatribe drama that he found sweetly sick and amusing. He only wished to find traces of himself there, where none should truly remain, and yet he did. And with that, he found hope that Ryan still held thoughts of him, which of course he still undoubtedly did.