Peter sat on the ledge of the balcony looking down at the chaos of people beneath him. Everyone was on their way to do something they thought important, and each and every person had their own goal in mind.
They all looked like ants marching behind each other, and he smiled sarcastically at the thought. The same thing every day. Go to work, do your job and then back home again, just to do the exact same thing the following day.
He couldn't stand it anymore. The rat race was killing him, and he felt like a robot. One day nearly two months ago, while his boss just kept on yelling and yelling, his brain just switched off, and he turned around and walked out. He was not even thinking. He just quit and walked.
Some people called it a meltdown, others a nervous breakdown, but he has never felt more sane in his life. He was just not willing to sacrifice his happiness anymore to bring in a few dollars a month.
It took him a month to recover, and he did absolutely everything that he never had the time to do before. He had a passion for writing and he knew that this was the perfect time to write that novel he has been longing to write for such a long time.
He knew he wouldn't be able to live of his savings for long, and all he needed was money for rent, food and the basics. His friend offered him a job in his bar, and he never felt more alive. The sad stories he heard in the restaurant, made him glad that he left his job even more, and every free minute he had, he spent writing his novel.
He sent the first draft a week ago and he was waiting for a reply from the publisher. In the meantime he was still enjoying his bartender job and was already thinking and making notes for his next novel. He was sure that his manuscript was going to be accepted but only time will tell, and for now at least he was no longer part of this mad rat race.
