Fred

Fred sat in his room as a child.
"This room is too small," he sighed.
Fred told his parents that his room was too small. His parents told him that was the best they could do. He insisted that he had too many toys, clothing, books and other stuff to fit in such a tiny room. His parents told him that there was no way they could make his room bigger. Fred sighed. "It's not fair. This sucks."

Fred went to school.
"This textbook is damaged," he griped.
His teacher heard him griping. She told him that, if he wanted, he could have his pick of all of the remaining textbooks to see if they were any more to his liking. He looked at them all. Some had pages that were folded over on themselves, some had corners that were a little smushed. None of them were pristine. He sighed, as he resigned himself to his original, damaged textbook. "Why do I always get all the crappy textbooks?" he asked nobody. And nobody answered.

Fred got an apartment.
"It's not in the right neighborhood," he complained.
He went to the better neighborhoods and looked for an apartment. But all the really good neighborhoods only had houses. He looked for apartments in good neighborhoods, where people know you're a person of influence and means, but he could not find any. He had to remain in his simple apartment in a simple neighborhood.
"I'm never going to go anyplace with this ridiculous apartment."

Fred got a car.
It was not brilliant red, like he had wanted.
The paint didn't reflect the sun into his eyes and blind him.
It didn't go as fast as the salesman told him it would go.
It didn't garner him the respect of his peers the way the advertisement said it would.
"This car is shit."

Fred got married.
"She's too fat."

Fred had kids.
"They're too obnoxious and they drool. Now I have to clean up drool."

Fred got a job.
"It's not what I really want to do."
"It doesn't pay me what I'm worth."
"It's boring."
"My boss is an idiot."
"I hate this stupid job."

Fred frowned.
Nothing, literally nothing, ever went right for Fred.

Fred worked with Buddy.
Buddy walked by Fred's office sometimes, to look at Fred's key ring, laying on his desk.
Buddy had always wanted a key ring.
If he had a key ring, that would mean that he had keys.
Keys to an apartment.
Keys to a car.
Keys to a good life.
Buddy longed for that key ring.

But Buddy didn't have a key ring.
Buddy finished his daily work and walked to the nearby shelter where he slept at night.
Buddy's mother and father had been killed when Buddy was young.
Buddy had been taken from his room.
Buddy had been taken from his school.
Buddy had never had an apartment or a job.
Buddy sighed as he walked into the shelter, wishing he had a key ring.

Buddy walked past Allen, who lived on the street.
Allen wanted nothing more than to sleep in the shelter where Buddy was going.
But the shelter was full, and they didn't have room for Allen.
Allen pulled a box over his head, and thought about how great it would be to live in that shelter.

And it was a good thing that Allen pulled that box over his head when he did, because no sooner had he covered himself completely than a red car came zipping along at blinding speed, dashing through a puddle and sloshing gutter water over Allen's box top.

Fred was zipping too fast to notice that he had splashed somebody.
He just noticed that he had splashed water all over his car. He punched the steering wheel with frustration.
"Goddamit! Now this piece of shit is even dirtier and shittier! Why doesn't anything good ever fucking happen to me?!"