He couldn't help but stare.

The record player has been running for over an hour, and still he does not feel like dancing. The clock keeps ticking, yet he still does not want to keep track of it. His life keeps sprinting by him, and he does nothing but stare as it bleeds into him. His guilt is the only thing he did not stare at--- He grinned at his guilt. No longer bothered by his trivial wrong-doings, he felt he had the right to stare at everyone else's mistakes; But not his own. He chose to look at his own past in this manner because he had stared at his mistakes so long, that they appeared to have melted into a mirage of something that resembles beauty. He grins at his beautiful misfortunes, and stares at the rest of life. The way a man would act if instead of the phrase "It's not you, it's me" .... he was told "It's not you... it's him."

Sometimes disaster is all a man needs to look upon life with soft eyes... once more.