I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SPELL PROSE
             There are many ways to write something like this, obviously you can tell by the title, that the first one didn't work. Let's go ahead and change format. I'm doing this journal-style. I'm alleviating the flair for the dramatic and leaving that up to you. You will only read a blunt semi-condensed version of what has happened. Will I take some liberties with language? Of course, and maybe some similies and metaphors too. Let's see what happens.....
             In the summer of 2002, I had a lot going for me. I had worked my way up and become the top person in my company. I got a new car, I had big paychecks, some nice trophies, and I even had some pussy. In my own little world, I felt like a superstar. The finer in things in life were mine. But see, it was the summer of 2002, and no matter what I had, I couldn't help but look back and remember how good the summers used to be. Life's a little different in the summer when you're older. When I was a kid, summer meant late nights, parties, video games, blockbuster movies, and playing outside underneath the sun. I don't get much sun anymore. There are some windows in the building that I work in, and there are moments when beams of light come through. Whenever that happens, I'm left wondering, like, what's going on outside? Who's out there, and what kind of adventures are the getting into? One day in the middle of July, I didn't have to ask anymore. Someone from the outside, still with the light of the sun on her shoulders, walked in to tell me all about it.
             She was the daughter of a teacher I had as in the fifth grade. It's a small world sometimes. I couldn't help but think to myself that my teacher had been holding out on me all these years. But of course, when you're a star, you've got too much shit to do than to pay any attention to one girl. You don...