As I gaze at the structural column in Copley Station, cracked nearly in two and held together with zip ties that have been carefully painted over to match the column underneath, I feel my soul intertwined with that of a small Italian boy of days gone by, who also stopped to look up at a large, groaning, newly painted tank full of molasses
coworkers under 35 love me for my cowboy bebop jacket, coworkers over 35 love me for my cd player, management loves me for my mental illness-fueled punctuality. everyone feels vaguely wary of me for my overall poor impression of acting like a human
taylor swift fans are so scary it's like i'm in the truman show. watching taylor swift fans talk about how she soo gets neurospicy mental illness grippy sock vacation is exactly how truman felt when his wife started advertising coffee or something to nobody in particular