I told Lauren not to ask about my day.
How many ways can you regurgitate permanent vocational dissatisfaction?
Misery is fucking boring.
We did go out at dusk.
A mellow bike ride to Rogers Park.
It was a farewell party for our friend Kate.
She's moving to Providence.
Happy for her.
Providence sounds pleasant.
We slowed to a crawl at the stop sign, and then advanced.
The car to our right slowed down to 15 mph for the stop sign.
We stopped riding to let him blow the stop sign and drive in front of us.
Instead he ground to a halt in the middle of the intersection.
We reluctantly rode in front of him.
"There's a stop sign!" he yelled at us.
"Yeah, and you went through it!" I shouted back.
"FUCK YOU!" he hollered, and sped off into his heroic horizon.
What is wrong with this city?
At home my Facebook friend Kelly posted the following:
"Drinking with Tribune folks on the roof of the Wit while Transformers 3 filmed below - love Chicago."
I didn't reply with the following:
"Cumming into mouth of road rage douchebag's severed head in the kitchen of a sweltering apartment while contemplating yet another day of worthlessness in a dead end job in a dying industry - fuck Chicago."
Correction: "fuck Me."
Verdict: Loss
No comments:
Post a Comment