A Smudge On My Wall

There is a smudge on my wall, and I do not know how it got there. Sitting here staring at the smudge, I wonder where it came from, and how it affects my life. My answer is the following:

The smudge arrived by bus not three weeks ago, seeking work after being fired by his boss in Houston (for discovering an embezzlement scheme), and ended up in the suburbs, somehow. Cold, desperate, and alone, the smudge broke into my home and rested on my wall, where it soon starved to death considering it had not eaten in quite some time, nor realized its hunger in its depressive state. Its body is slowly decaying into a permanent, frivolous stain on my wall. It does not affect me in any way, shape, or form, as it has no way, shape, or form of its own. It simply remains a smudge on my wall, forever.