you feel like an asshole for publicly worrying about losing your keys. Afterwards, it seeps into your life as you begin to formulate the social equations necessary for recovering the important. What the fuck happened to your Dominicks Fresh Values card?
You have an empty day ahead of you you drive to buy cigarettes for the break they offer when you see red lights light ahead of you indicating you should stop but you don’t do it in time your knees crunch back into your shoulders so you’re closer than you’ve ever been to sucking your own dick.
I am reading a book while my friend sleeps. Soft snoring and football in the other room make the heat from the register seem futile. To detail the small moments that fill an overarching blanket of undetermined emotion is the only way I've found to document and understand the whole damn thing. And really, it doesn't work quite right.
I'm trying to deconstruct the allure of hometown bars around holidays. Post-high school, pre-family years back at your parents with nothing to do but drink with old friends. That's cool. Actually, it's really cool. But why aren't we all just drinking beers in a basement or walking around old neighborhoods with a bottle of wine? There's some illogical appeal to running into old acquaintances and then having awkward, unfulfilling 2 minute conversations with them over the enormous sound of some stupid song you've heard a couple times while waiting in line for a Subway sandwich. The conversations you want to get out of the second after you see the other person, make the widened eye contact of recognition and start walking toward each other. The hugs are uncomfortable, you don't remember the names of the two other people your old pal is with, and your beer cost a dollar and a half more than it should have. I dunno man. Maybe it's like drugs where the chronic user keeps using even though they don't enjoy it.