When I was 22 years old I had a corporate job working for a retail chain. I had "worked my way up the ladder" to the point where I had my own pager, business cards, laptop computer, and drove a convertible. At the time I was working third shift, I was in charge of overseeing the entire company's pricing system and ensuring that each location had correct pricing when each store opened the next morning. There were over 500 locations and I was the only person on location overnight, so for a high school graduate with no formal college training, I was doing well. And I was miserable.

I would go out for a few hours every night before going in to work. I'd go out to coffee shops or maybe a bar and meet up with my friends for a pint or a cappuccino before leaving for work.

They got to spend their spring nights inside the vague open electricity of the humid Milwaukee night, only needing to get to their part-time job somewhat on time the next day.

I went to my cubicle and spent my nights napping on conference room floors, finding ways to look at porn on the internet, and shopping for motorcycles online.

Every night before leaving for work, from March to October, I'd drive with my top down, windows down. I insisted. This is why I bought a convertible, right? Every night I'd leave the coffee shop, bar, night club-wherever - in agony, driving away to my certain death. Before I left I'd take the top off my car, sit in the driver's seat, press the clutch in and start the car. I'd sit there for a second, thinking, "Yes, I really am going there again." Then I'd look over at my cd case and find �Raw Power� by Iggy Pop and the Stooges. I'd put it in the cd player, turn the volume all the way up and play Track 1 � �Search and Destroy�. I fantasized through that song, its screams, its extremes, the savage beauty inside the lyrics. I'd make sure I'd drive past at least one strip where people were guaranteed to be sitting or walking outside, hoping that at least some small part of the world would understand my plight - or if they didn't understand, at least they'd be subjected to hearing about a life I envied. Down not very deep, I wanted for a heart filled with napalm, I hoped for somebody � anybody - to save my soul, especially some woman I could make love with in the middle of a firefight.

A year later, 23, I had collected my plaque for five years of loyal service and a few months later walked out the door one bright Friday morning. I could see the faces looking out the window and waving as I started the car and played the same song that I was listening to when I pulled in the night before. I pressed in the clutch and shifted into first gear, leaving to become one of the world's forgotten boys.

Eddie Kilowatt is a 25 year old sometimes wanderer who calls Milwaukee, WI his home. At current, his work has been accepted for Thunder Sandwich, remark., My Favorite Bullet, Defenestration, Ugly Accent, and Thieves Jargon among others. His first collection of poetry titled �Manifest Density� was released in April 2006. Over the next two years he is writing his next book via dictation while riding a motorcycle around the U.S. with a microphone in his helmet. In between he's compiling his next collection of poetry, �Carrying a Knife in to the Gunfight.� To read a selection of Eddie�s poetry on the showcase section of this site, click here

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