Stranger than fiction

With every awkward strum, Harold Crick became stronger in who he was, what he wanted, and why he was alive. Harold no longer ate alone, he no longer counted brush strokes, he no longer wore neckties, and therefore he no longer worried about the time it took to put them on. He no longer counted his steps to the bus stop, instead, Harold did that which had terrified him before. That which had eluded him monday through friday for so many years, that which the unrelenting lyrics of numerous punk-rock songs told him to do.

Harold Crick lived his life.