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after eight long hours of indentured slavery, i recoil to a back corner to spend enough money to deal with and necessitate going back to my shitty job in the morning. i look at everyone around me, just like me. i wonder if they like their lives. i don't wonder too much because i know that after an hour or two they'll be more than willing to tell me all about it. so for now, i'm content in my private purging of the day's monotony. the walls of the booth are high and private, old and vinyl. it makes me feel like a kid in the back seat of car, not tall enough to see out the window the proper way. all i could see then were the lofty tops of buildings. all i can see now are the tops of heads. i like it better this way than if i could see their entirety. this way each tuft of hair is a potential conversation rather than an assumed let-down.

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The following comments are for "short attention span diego"
by shortattentionspandiego

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