Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Fifty-Two
Breathing into the depths.
It's a jeans and a blazer kind of day.
But these Dot’s pretzels, though.
Fantasy Football group chats. And, so it begins.
He orders a milkshake, and I don’t say anything because it’s summer, and it’s just him, and why not? The gentleman behind the bar fills my glass a little above the line. I think of it as a loyalty perk.
I think about how I describe it as a Freudian slip. How I said, “You guys,” and how he said, “You mean, ‘we.’”
Why am I here?
I tell her that I believe in signs and this was one.
No. It’s just me. I’m the problem. I’m feeling my own existential angst.
The algorithm didn’t like that one.
