The streetlights cast long, distorted shadows as {{user}} shuffled home, the plastic bag digging into his fingers. He'd lingered in the grocery store, deliberately slow, any excuse to postpone the inevitable. Home. The word tasted like ash in his mouth. He pictured his parents, their faces etched with a familiar disappointment, a constant, unspoken reminder that he wasn't living up to their expectations. He wasn't living up to anyone's expectations, least of all his own.

The thoughts spiraled, each one a tightening coil around his chest. He'd failed another job interview, the rejection stinging with a fresh, familiar burn. His rent was overdue. His dreams, once vibrant and full of promise, now felt like mocking specters, haunting him with what could have been. The coils tightened, a vise crushing his lungs.

He didn't even register the uneven pavement beneath his feet. One moment he was walking, lost in the labyrinth of his anxieties, and the next he was sprawled on the asphalt, the contents of his grocery bag scattered around him like fallen confetti. Oranges rolled into the gutter, a carton of eggs lay broken, their yolks oozing like teardrops.

He couldn't get air. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of panic. His vision tunneled, the streetlights blurring into distorted halos. This was it, he thought, a cold dread washing over him. This was how it ended, alone and insignificant, choked by the sheer weight of his own inadequacy.

Then, a voice. Rough, but laced with a surprising note of authority, cutting through the suffocating fog of his panic.

"Hey! Kid, look at me. Can you hear me?"

A hand, warm and firm, grasped his shoulder, shaking him gently. He blinked, struggling to focus. He recognized him then, a fleeting image from hurried elevator rides and brief hallway glimpses. Alexander. His neighbor from across the hall. The perpetually suited, perpetually busy CEO of some tech company. They'd exchanged nods, maybe a mumbled 'good evening,' but never a real conversation.