I needed a new software or hardware. I spent the next few nights on my desk, working on documents and ideas for something to get out there into the world. I couldn't really put much together because I was so disappointed. I spent the next few hours of a Thursday night just going over some things people may want. The software aggregation of products and other similar things had been done apparently. I need something big, something important. I raise my head, glare at the stuff in front of me, then stare at the papers.

That's it, that's what I need: something to compare the success rate of companies. The startup ones in specific. I'll take the code and just repurpose it for that reason specifically. It's perfect. Wonderfully perfect. I lean back, the chair adjusting as Moore comes from his room. "Hey man, you holding up okay?"

I just smile. "Absolutely. Better than ever."

He looks confused, then tilts his head. "Really? I mean, I thought you'd be more upset or something."

"Pfft," I do a little chuckle, giggle and nod, "well, no, I mean, yes then no. Or no."

"What are you trying to say?" Moore sighs.

I direct my finger to the open notebook. "I think I have a new idea, a good one. Something else that will work really well and get a lot done. It's great, wonderful and perfect."

He stands almost as if stunned. "So... yeah?"

"Sit down," I tell him.

He sits down. "Okay, sure, yeah."

"I will eventually require your design. But listen, I have this wonderful idea," I say, "and won't require much work on either of our parts."

"Well," he just sits there and the crosses his arms, "what is this perfect idea or project?"

"Okay, so," I show him the papers, "it's similar in a way, but not exactly. I'm going to use my old stuff, the script, and code for something new. So here's my idea: software that gathers and predicts success rates of new things, like startups and companies."

For a moment he stays quiet, then raises his finger. "That's actually pretty smart."

"And it would not be critically hard to do, either," I say.

"Maybe... critically hard?"

"Yeah."

He shrugs. "Just new to hearing it said that way. Whatever. Okay, well, would you be able to finish it sometime soon-ish?"

"Yeah, in no time, and logos can be designed by you," I walk to the fridge for a bottle of clear, cold water, then back to my chair.

"Well this... could be big. Interesting. I mean this could empower tons of new businesses. I like this."

"That's why I am inviting you into it, man," I drink, water down my throat and into my belly, "because I think that it will blow up. It will be huge, really. Think about it."

He grins wide. "Yeah, yeah man," Moore leaves the couch, "send me stuff. I'm using my laptop too, so send me names and other cool ideas. I'll put together a logo."

"Good. Sending," I go back to my computer workspace and do just that in the flash of a few seconds: send the files. "Sent!"

He's still in his room and he shouts back to me. "Got it! I'll work on something, then check your email inbox, okay?"

"Done!" I reply in a shout as well.

And that's how PrePress RC started.

Which didn't do all that well either, start to finish. That's when it went wrong. I put a lot of effort forward, changing little things in the code and script. But like all things, stuff comes to an end. I proposed it after we fixed everything. Designs for logos were done, the program had been renamed, different protocols and websites were set up for it, everything. The whole thing was good to go, except something tiny I had missed. I didn't research this well enough either. Eventually, after getting turned away and down so many times, I realized the problem. It was simple, too: someone else had already done this.

That's twice now things have failed. Even worse, the thing I made was pretty much crap compared to the other stuff available on the market. A waste. I can't describe how close I am to giving up. What's next? But it's always something. Moore isn't happy about things and decides to pull me aside one night, telling me the news I wasn't looking forward to hearing.

I'm sitting in my bedroom, reading over a few lines of this book in my hand, when he comes in and tells me the thing that ruined my day. "Hey man," he sighs, "I have some bad news. You're not... well, you're not going to be happy about it, Alex."

Great. What other things can go wrong? "Yeah?"

He pauses, then hangs his face down low, sighing again. "Man... I'm... moving. I'm going."

"What? Where? Why? When?!"

He slides back against the wall, leaning, eyes away from making contact with me. "The thing is, it's all failed. All of it, man."

"What do you mean," I set my book down, standing up from my inexpensive bed, "what are you saying? I don't understand."

"Work is something that I have, right? Well, things are different. We're relocating, for lack of a better word, man. I can't be here anymore."

"But... the lease! Our stuff!" I'm nearly shouting.

He nods, his hands messing with something. Probably a plastic lighter of some kind. "I know. The lease, well, I'll just pay for that away from a distance. We need to move on... we won't do anything, accomplish anything or get anywhere if we keep this up like this. I'm sorry man," he says, "but this just needs to take place. It has to happen. I'm sorry."

And then it's over. Our friendship, I mean. It's done. He'll be gone in less than two weeks and I'm staring at my desk wondering how the fucking rent is going to be paid. The dreams I had seemed to be shredding into pieces right before my own eyes. There's a night of drinking, nothing too harsh, but I get drunk. The alcohol helped me sleep and loosen up. I managed the alcoholic way of life about three days before I just had to stop. My body wasn't happy with me.

I wasn't happy with me.

No one was really happy with me.