ABANDON ALL HOPE the sign reads and you've entered my apartment. I don't have much but you can find a spot on the floor, that's where I am, picking through CDs. Maybe if I play my guitar along I'll be inspired-might shake loose the songs I want to write and they won't sound wrong. My landlord drops by with an eviction notice. I'll fight it, but it won't matter if I win. I haven't worked since the last place went out of business. Drugs are easier to come by than money. I want to die but heroin is better, and I don't want to be what the world says I am-or would say, "A worthless junkie who committed suicide. Good riddance." I am an artist. But how do you create meaning out of nothing?