Personal Narrative-The Milkweed

The loud clanking of the 5o’clock train woke the man from his short-lasting slumber. The man cursed under his breath as he stumbled out of bed and slipped his feet into a pair of fuzzy, grey socks.

He scratch his knotted hair, managing to get his fingers stuck in it, and yawned. He could here the girl in the room next to mine getting some unenjoyable sex, judging by the boys moans and the girls sighs.

He striped out of his pajama pants and changed into his only pair of skinny jeans. Originally they were black, but after many years washing, they were now a lovely faded color. The rips in them have grown several centimeters. Nobody would notice, but he did. He pulled on yesterday’s shirt and decide it’s time to go back to his “family”. He hadn’t brought much with him in the way of food, so he was definitely craving something. Who knows, weed gives you the munchies.
The name had nothing to do with the place, so it’s easy to just assume that the owner thought it was a “hip and aesthetic”