You are standing in a narrow hallway of your railway apartment watching two people play the delicate game of putting shoes on while wearing a backpack and managing luggage in three square feet of space. You love one platonically, the other unrequitedly. It has taken you a surprisingly long time to realize this, and it has never struck you more true than now. Today is a day where facts seem malleable. You realize it is raining outside all of a sudden, yanking the soft pit-paps into the foreground. It is gray outside and the hallway is dark and these two people who were your family for one night are tying their shoes in shadow. You will come back much later, alone, and identify the pain in your chest as terrible heartache. You will know that people are not meant to live alone, that this loneliness too is a price you paid for life's choices. You will do more drugs than you should, sit by the internet, and try to cry. You will realize that there is a type of sadness that is so heavy and ill-formed that it prevents you from enjoying even the catharsis of tears. You will fall asleep too early and wake up too late. You will avoid mirrors. You will use the second person. You will be alive.
Dark Bob walked up to our hero, who struggled in heroic captivity. He
smiled and stroked an ebony finger down the slender cheek of
IntricacyMan.
“Do you know what the most degrading thing you can do to someone is?”
he whispered.
“Give him a federal holiday?”
“No! No! What—You know I want Dark Bob Week to replace Black History
Month.” Dark Bob seethed and decided to do this another day.
As the cell door began to close, IntricacyMan muttered—not quiet
enough—”That would only work if they could make a Prozac parade float.”
Dark Bob closed the door, sprayed tanning lotion on his weird finger,
leaned against it, and cried.
This is a rewrite of a previous post.
Drink ’n’ Drive strips alert the careful driver as to
whether he’s drunk enough to drive for the conscientious
daredevil that’d like to drive drunk but also keep it legal.
These handy-dandy strips are for the classy connoisseur of alcohol
whose moral compass is merely a cross reference to his local state
penal code that defines the acceptable, moral, decent blood alcohol
content at which point the possible manslaughter of other people
becomes acceptable. I do take umbrage that these strips are sold to
just anybody though. If you think about it, they should only be
limited to SUV drivers; otherwise, the company runs the risk of people
complaining that even though the strips guaranteed a safe bon voyage
they still got a neck brace while the other person walked off with two
broken legs and backlash. Limiting your clientele to the elite SUV
drivers ensures people who get into those rarest of rare accidents
when you’re 0.01 below the BAC limit completely and totally
annihilate whatever other vehicle or small train they crash into. I
mean, come on, friends don’t let friends use Drink
’n’ Drive strips and operate a family sedan. That’s
crossing a line.