Problems with being a writer

A man was clumsily walking down a busy street, messily eating a street falafel with his left hand, smoking a cheap cig on his right. His long greasy dark hair tied in a messy ponytail, while his clothes schlumpier, his face rounder, body clearly out of shape. He wears jeans and that worn-out corduroy "writer's" sport coat --the one that your girlfriend fights to give to the Salvation Army.

"Now you may be asking, what kind of person without a history of drug or alcohol abuse looks this way? Only a writer."

The man then eyes a guy homeless on the street, feeling his dismal future breathing down his neck.

"I was a writer. Two years after my copywriting job at Sullivan & Cromwell came to a non-mutual end, I had, in an extraordinary burst of desperate energy, bullshitted my way into my first book contract. But I, unfortunately, blew it, due to not having any idea of what my book should be about."

The man then kept on walking, slowly making his way home, a little tipsy and filled with self- loathing.

"Now I can't really point out what the problem is with my so called "Provisional writer's block." As I can rewrite most of the popular books on the top of my head. But for some odd reason, I still can't write a damn page about my original novels. So now I am practically bankrupt, out of a job and have recently broken with my college sweetheart, Having no idea nor direction on where I should go from here."

The disheveled man opens the door to his apartment. He enters, looks around. Books scattered across the floor, dirty dishes, broken Venetian blind sashes. The nest of a slob.

"Honestly there's nothing left for me to live on, my parents are no longer here anymore, no sibling and as of yesterday no more love. Thinking about it the only thing that's expecting me is the student loan guy, but no way in hell am I gonna spend my life paying that."

The man then sat down in front of his laptop and proceed to turn it on. Going unto a rubber ducks manufacturer website and using the last of his savings ordered 10,000 non-refundable rubber ducks and shipped them to the student loan head office.

"To tell you the truth, going down by a noose is kinda boring, so I'm gonna go out with a bang"

Taking out the remaining 5 gas canisters from under the cupboards, the man then laid them out on a 3 by 2 pattern, opening their valves whilst getting out the last remaining food in his fridge. Which were a bottle of beer and a get well soon lasagna dish that Jenny his ex-girlfriend made recently.

"She was always sweet like that and honestly I don't blame her for breaking up with a slob like me, in fact, I am grateful for putting up with me for this long. Man if only I could have another shot at living, if so then I won't squander it like I did with this one and would try my best to claw my way up to the top of the food chain. I am done with society always dicking me around with their bullshit rules. Well, I digress. Now, where was I? ah yes! the Deadpool 2 reference...hopefully Jenny won't get too upset about this, hopefully, she'll enjoy my last gift haha..."

He grinned as he reminisces about the letter he mailed Jenny earlier, saying that he was sorry and that it isn't her fault that he made this decision, and below that was a map that would send her all around our favourite date spots in the city, to hunt for my late mother's jewelry collection.

"Alright let's do this"

Finishing up his meal, the man then lay down uncomfortably on top of the gas canisters and taking a deep breath, reached for his lighter.

BOOOM!!!!!