We took a trip to a commercialism slaughterhouse in utter, luxurious starvation. When we arrived, every person inside was a muted face and distended with gluttony. We were no different, though maybe a bit more considerate and a little less needy. We chuckled, and she helped me juggle mismatching live grenades during the journey back. Our laughter was strained from brittle routine. We struggled against unfulfilled expectations, and called it an early night at the beginning of the week.
9:32 p.m. - 2016-03-03
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