There was a man.
he had not chosen this job, it was his parents wish that he should go to college all though he did not enjoy schematics, all though it was not unbearable.
It was his fathers wish his education may be used, and it was his mother who knew who would hire him. So the man willingly went with it.
The job was dull, gray and not what the man had wished for when he was younger, but it was bearable, so he supposed it was fine.
He had not chosen this apartment, the apartment was in the middle of the city, his grandmother had insisted he should be close so he could help, outside of the window it would be filled with smoke and grease, the staircase up the the little flat dirty brown and unwelcoming, equally so the neighbours, all looked like a non caring sort of people, but it was not unbearable, so the man supposed it was fine.
He had not chosen this couch, it was ugly and smelled of moll. It was like the dust would fly away from it whenever the man touched it.
Yet it was an heirloom from his dead uncle, and the couch was not unbearable, so he supposed it was fine.
the man had not chosen this set of clothe, it was ugly and itchy, the sort of clothes you only see truly boring people wear, people who were accountants or really old history teachers, all though the job the man had not chosen was just such a boring job.
But the clothes was a gift from his parents neighbours, and it was not unbearable, so he supposed it was fine.
The man had not chosen his job, his education, his apartment, the couch in the apartment, the clothes he was wearing. non of these things made him happy or made him smile the least.
non of it was his choice, yet it was.
He had chosen that life.