Filed under: art/writing
When I was young, I had been promised the real World and all of its hardships. Fingers had been wagged, tongues had been clacked, dried tower women had assured me that I had it easy. They threatened tests and trials harder than anything I would ever face in the years before magically endowed adulthood and violent ejection into the World. Each one of my classmates was an Odysseus just leaving port. Watch out for the Cyclops!
They were stupid, stupid bitches. Stupid bitches in their short, gray hair and large, round glasses. They didn’t mention paying bills. They didn’t warn us about the hours spent drumming on our desks, scouring the web, feeling tired between the countless cups of coffee. Adulthood isn’t a battle. It is a waiting room. But we believed them because they were taller than us and had the power to take away the kickball. Kick-kick.
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