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 ^{(it's beta!)}

         My relationship with Amy had just ended as the true loneliness began seeping in. I had stayed in my apartment for about three days before I gave myself the respect of going outside. It was autumn, so it was just the pleasant weather I had needed to make myself feel one notch up on the scale of depression. I traveled through the city on foot, observing the people I passed, with no real destination in mind. I stopped when I noticed a path that led out of the city into a patch of woods that seemed to inevitably end somewhere not too far off. I walked this path for an hour or so before I decided to turn back, realizing it was far longer than I had expected. Along the way I'd seen several interesting things; a medium sized crater that I'd imagine to be a spot for teenagers to smoke marijuana at, a hollowed out tree with several flowers resting at the bottom of it's trunk, and most interestingly of all, an extensive tree house that seemed to be capable of sustaining a living human being.

         I walked home slowly taking in all of the nice weather I could before I would arrive back home, and back into sadness. I walked into my home to the welcoming image of all of Amy's things having been taken away, just a few knickknacks; a couple of albums, a few DVDs, but most disappointing being the computer. This news prompted me to cross masturbation off of my list of evening plans and as these were my only evening plans, I slept the rest of the day.

         I dreamed of a yeti living in the wooden tree house for over fifty years, with no human paying him any attention (except for the occasional shaky camera feed and blurry Polaroid). He ate primarily small creatures such as squirrels, rabbits, and chipmunks. He would occasionally treat himself to a fox too, but he usually stayed away because he thought they were far too many calories and would be counter-productive to his goal-weight. He slept on an old dry futon in his tree house and spent most of his days sitting and thinking. He would sometimes walk the path and leave flowers in the hollowed out tree in memory of his mother, who was killed by hunters. He would also go down to the crater and sneak a bowl pack of marijuana every now and then to ease the monotony of his lonely wooden days.

         I awoke to the vivid remembrance of my dream and made a pot of coffee. Thank god Amy didn't buy the coffeemaker. It was midday, noonish. I watched a documentary show about paranormal experiences and a part of the show was dedicated to the legend of Bigfoot. This only fed my odd obsession and motivated me enough to leave my home again. I took the last sip of my coffee, put on pants, and ventured back out into the real world.

         It didn't take very long for me to arrive back at the entrance to the path, perhaps my excitement and curiosity had caused my legs to gain superhuman speed. I think I watched a documentary about that the other day too! I walked along the path and first hit the tree with the hollowed out body. The flowers singularly laid there, perhaps laid out for any impoverished passerby on their way to a funeral or a date. I could only hope they were meant for the sorely missed yeti mother, unfairly shot down by a gang of hunters who had mistook her for an unusually hairy deer. May she rest in peace.

         I continued walking, at one point introducing myself to an antisocial squirrel who immediately scurried away to blog about the weird man who said, "Hello. My names Jeff, whats yours?" I soon reached the crater and carefully maneuvered myself down into it. It's quite a large crater, perhaps also used for mountain biking. I noticed a crevice covered in a leafy disguise and I ignorantly reached my hand into it. Luckily instead of pulling out a vicious and moody snake, I pulled out a homemade bong with the words, "The Bigfoot" taped onto them, probably cut out of a magazine. For two reasons, I got excited and thought, "I knew it!" Knowing what it's like to be a bored teenager and/or a lonely yeti, I put the bong back in it's hole and covered it back up with leaves.

         I began the final part of the day's journey and traveled further down the path. I approached the tree house with excitement. I stood for a few moments staring up at it, wondering what this moment was supposed to mean to me or what I was to expect from it. Finding no answer to either of the questions, I found myself already halfway up the wooden makeshift ladder attached to the tree, which caused me to think, "Where did the yeti get nails?" I answered my own question with the far-fetched idea that he had some sort of agreement set up with a trustworthy human (such as myself!) to get him supplies from the city. I reached the top of the ladder and although there was no living creature, there was still quite a satisfying image.

         The tree house was set up rather plainly. Just as I had expected, an old dirty futon sat in the corner of the room, but that was it. There was nothing else in the room. Just like a yeti, to attract no unneeded attention with a flashy room filled with various pieces of yeti memorabilia. "He must keep his 'Sasquatch' comics and VHS copy of 'Bigfoot' elsewhere," I thought. It was getting to be about five o'clock when I decided to head home. When I got back to the city, I got an egg sandwich and a soda and was greeted by the even more welcoming image of my apartment completely up in flames.

         "God dammit," I said to myself as the fire department continued to get all of the fire out, "The coffeemaker!"

         Somehow subconsciously, I knew my addiction to caffeine would be the death of me, but just not in this way. Who knew leaving a coffeemaker on for just a few hours too long could cause a fire? God dammit god, why didn't Amy buy the coffeemaker!? I talked to the police and the apartment had become completely uninhabitable. I felt guilty for the damage to the surrounding apartments, but was happy to find out that the insurance would fully cover a few nights in a hotel. I mean if they didn't have insurance, it was their fault, right?

         I hadn't lost much in the fire; my bed, my fridge, my oven, my television, my couch; nothing irreplaceable I mean. There's a point in complete depression and utter insanity where nothing can effect you. My mother could have been on her deathbed and I would have merely asked her what her feelings on the existence of Nessy were.

         I walked around the city for a thirty minutes or so before the sun started to rotate towards the southern hemisphere and I was forced to find shelter. I got a room in a motel near the city's edge, the kind in which the concierge seems to be straight out of a Hollywood movie and solemnly passes you the keys while in a monotone voice saying, "Have a nice stay here at the famous Lucky's Motel. We hope to see you again." I sat in my room clicking through the channels on the basic cable television, while weighing the pros and cons of going to sleep. I suddenly realized the cons outweighed the pros when I remembered the futon sitting alone in the corner of the tree house and decided it was my duty to find out who or what was living up there.

         I filled up my water bottle, slipped my wallet into my back pocket and left the motel. Instead of directly going to the path and staking out the tree house, I decided it would be best if I got an eighth of marijuana first. You know, just in case I had to bribe the yeti or something.

         At the time, my dealers name was Gordon and he was perhaps my only friend. Besides Amy, Gordon was the only person I had ever spent any time with since I had moved to the city. It didn't take long to get to his apartment and I quickly filled him in on my living situation.

         "That just sucks, man. I'm sorry. I would let you stay here, but with Sarah and you know-"

         "No I understand. It's fine."

         Sarah was Gordon's girlfriend of only one month. She convinced him it would be a great idea for her to live with him this early in the relationship, which isn't that odd due to Gordons level of intelligence and uncontrollable libido. I asked Gordon if I could get an eighth of marijuana, in which he complied and pulled out a large bag.

         "This is great stuff, man. It's called Skunky Number Two. You'll love it."

         As he bagged up the eighth, I pondered on the difference between Skunky Number One and Skunky Number Two, how many types of weed could possibly be in the series, and what commonly linked them all together. I thought about this until he interrupted my train of thought with:

         "What's the occasion?"

         I described to him my dream, the tree house, and my stakeout plans. He then proposed an offer. He would smoke the weed with me for free if he could tag along to the stakeout. I halfheartedly agreed. I had hoped to be the only one to know of the yeti and befriend him, but if I would have wanted anyone else in the city to befriend him with me, it would have been Gordon.

         "Grab a blanket and a pillow or two," I said, "We might have to stay the night."

         He left the living room and I sat silently on his couch. His house was exceptionally clean for a weed dealer; no Doritos bags left open on the floor, no nasty smells radiating throughout the apartment,and nothing else you might normally expect. He came back into the room with a blanket, two pillows and a bag of Cheetos.

         "Snacks," he said to me with a smile on his face.

         It was approximately nine-thirty when Gordon and I began walking down the path. No more could the city lights support us, so I lit up the flashlight.

         "What time do you think a yeti goes to bed?" Gordon asked me. I told him that I'd assume it would be around the same time we do, which caused me to realize the yeti might not be going to sleep for several hours. As we were walking, it occurred to me that I hadn't informed Gordon of Amy and I splitting up, or rather Amy dumping me. I told him about how she had apparently been planning it for quite a while. She had been searching for living arrangements for her final year at college for about a month until she found a nice little apartment right next to the college, and in turn informed me that she was breaking up with me and moving out. She didn't give me much of an explanation, which is what I decided to blame the depression on.

         This news caused Gordon to develop a sort of unrelentingly and deep pity for me.

         "What!? First your apartment burns down and then your girlfriend dumps you!? Aw man, I'm sorry!"

         "It was actually the other way around."

         "First your girlfriend dumps you, then your house burns down! You've been having a bad week, man. I'm sorry."

         He reacted as any normal person would. I just didn't expect it because at the time, I just didn't feel sad. We nearly walked right past the hollowed out tree when I noticed it in the corner of my eye. I picked up a single flower from the trunk, leaving four remaining for any other lonely passerby.

         "What are you doing?" Gordon asked me as I stood up.

         "Just grabbing a flower."

         "Why?"

         I smiled and then answered, "Peace offering."

         We continued to walk down the path anticipating the arrival to the crater in which we would be smoking out of "The Bigfoot." On the way there, I heard a slight rustling of leaves, of which turned out to be the familiar face of the famous antisocial blogging squirrel. I greeted him yet again and asked him how his day was going. This time he stopped and looked at me and said simply:

         "Squeak."

         It was good to see that at least someone I knew was getting through their problems.

         Gordon and I eventually arrived at the crater and in the dark, it took considerable searching to find the hiding place in which the bong was stored. I reached my hand down into the crevice and pulled out the same bong that I had met the day before. Gordon asked me to keep the flashlight on the weed, so he'd know what he was doing as he packed it. After he had finished packing it, he passed it to me while saying:

         "Here. You need this more than I do."

         I take a long hit off of "The Bigfoot" and, having not smoked weed in several weeks, I coughed quite a bit. I passed it over to him and before long, we were sufficiently high. Wow! He gave me the rest of the weed and told me I could keep it. Pity can get you far in this world. After a few failed attempts, we got out of the crater and back onto the trail. The fact that we were high made the journey from the crater to the tree house far more entertaining than it would have been. Luckily, unlike Gordon, I wasn't a person who got paranoid when they were high. So as I merely enjoyed the nice walk through the forest, Gordon constantly felt that the forest animals had it out to get him.

         Eventually we reached the tree house and courageously, I decided to go up and check if the yeti was up there yet.

         "I'm here for you," Gordan says with a somber tone, "Just in case."

         I climbed up the ladder and at this point, even I was beginning to feel slightly anxious. I reached the top and slowly peeked my eyes over the floorboard.

         I was greeted, just as before, by the sight of a lone futon nestled in the corner of a damp tree house. I climbed back down to tell Gordon of the news. He was overjoyed and dropped the large stick he was carrying, which he intended to use as a weapon if the yeti had become aggressive. We planted ourselves several feet away from the tree house on a log, which was unexpectedly homely and comfortable. We sat for about an hour talking about various things, until Gordon's cell phone began to ring. He answered it.

         "I'm just out with Jeff... Um- I dunno- I mean... No, I'm not high!... Okay, yes I'm high... Okay... Alright... Bye."

         "Who was that?" I asked.

         "Sarah," he said, "Shes demanding that I come home. Sorry."

         "Nah, it's fine."

         "You can keep that stuff for tonight, if you want," he stood up, "Just bring it back to me tomorrow."

         "Yeah, thanks. Later."

         We shook hands and he began walking down the path. I was left alone to wait for the Bigfoot to come home. Another hour passed and in that time, I merely sat and enjoyed the high. The yeti was nowhere to be found. I stepped off the log and brought the blanket and pillows with me. Just before I was about to climb up and get some sleep, I heard off in the distance the slight rustling of leaves. What I had thought to be the yeti, had yet again merely been the blogging squirrel.

         "Oh, whats up man? How are you doin'?"

         "..." He stared at me.

         "Cool. Well I think I'm just gonna go catch some Zs."

         "Squeak."

         "Good seeing you too. Later."

         The squirrel scurried off and I climbed up into the tree house. The view out into the forest from inside was actually quite beautiful, but at the time it wasn't my real concern. I dropped down onto the futon and covered myself with a warm blanket. It didn't take very long for me to fall asleep.

         I dreamt of a woman. She was in her early twenties and had dropped out of college. She lived alone and spent most of her time thinking. Unlike myself, this woman didn't have much money at all and lived off of her minimum wage. She sang songs on her acoustic guitar to pass the time and snuck the occasional bowl pack down in the crater to ease the pain of the loneliness that culminates from the city life.

         I woke up to see a pair of feet resting against the futon. I quickly sat up to see that it was a woman lying against the adjacent wall. One of my pillows was resting behind her head. I pulled the covers off of myself and laid them on the woman. Her eyes began to open. I picked up the flower that I had gotten last night and said:

         "I think this is for you."

         I handed it to her and I finally realized:

         Bigfoot is just an urban legend.