Purpose is driven from the pursuit of purpose. Though I see no purpose here in the city beyond the daft university. Perhaps this is unfair. There are pursuits in the city— ones I greatly admire: the pursuit of apathy, the pursuit of companionship, and the pursuit of happiness. They gain euphoria by rolling up their sleeves pinching the vein, and dissolving in the fact that they have no future plans, and their defiance of chasing of that illusive and transparent, fictional love. This is my city. The people could not care less, and they are easily moved by wit and charm and the mere hint of a smoky escape. They are beautiful: tall, short, black, white, Asian, hippie, DJ, hobo, pregnant, gay, straight, bi, stout, skinny, stoner, philosophy majors, and the one man band. I salute you, you masters of happiness. You have had a larger chunk of sorrow, and we, the boring planners and the ones planted in the past, can but stand by the river and wave as you sail on.