It’s been seventeen days straight guarding this shitty door. A shitty door to a shitty room inside of a shitty building. It's supposed to be an outpost. A station to alert those who care to be alerted. With its drips and puddles, flickering lights that shine with the glow of death; it’s just enough light to show you that you're condemned to the dark but not enough to read by. It has more in common with a prison than you'd care to admit. Amazing what the sound of a drip can be likened to. A beat, or even a soul slipping away. Doesn’t bother me as much as it does the others though. The worst part is the smell. You wouldn’t think sand could have a smell, but it does. It reeks with the stench of wasted time. It smells exactly like you think it would. A forgotten place with a forgotten purpose. It fact, just this moment, I think I've forgotten the time. That would be a blessing, maybe it will run away. Ha! Maybe it will get angry and delete its Facebook page. With a quick glance at my wrist watch, I know what time it is. Time to guard this shitty door. But hey, someone somewhere is safe.