21

Subtract 20 and you get 1, subtract 18 you get 3, add 1 and 3 together, take the average, multiply by 3, and you get 6. The number of the devil. 21 is the devil.

This number has slowly started to destroy my life, and corrupt my soul. It seems the number has formed a sort of glass ceiling, or rather a glass cage, which time to time shifts its transparent walls and teases. I can’t buy a drink, or be anywhere where drinks are sold, I can’t check into a hotel in Vegas, because I’m too young to gamble, I cant check into a hotel in Florida, because...well apparently because they are all assholes over there. Correction, I can check into any hotel as long as it is a shitty one and nowhere close to where I want to be. I can’t even go dancing at a salsa club, because I am not 21. I cannot rent a car, for that you have to be 25 (a close cousin of 21, just add 2 and 5, and subtract 1) I wouldn’t be able to drive it anyway, but it’s the principle of the matter. When I decide to get a hooker…well you get the point.

However, to make up for all this, I can still join the army.

Thus, I’ am no longer speaking to the number 21.