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Behind every crazy woman is a man sitting very quietly, saying, “What? I’m not doing anything.”
“I would never miss a banana,” I say. “Ever.”
But so often, being right means nothing but winning a round of a losing game.
The sun sets over the parking lot, bathing the grim capitalist landscape in divine light.
At this hour, the parking lot is holy ground, the distant Target Valhalla.
I remember how they looked at me. Like I was crazy. I shrugged and left the bathroom, understanding there was a fundamental difference between us. Some people jump out of airplanes, some people backpack alone across Europe, some people climb Mount Everest, some people swim with sharks, some people fuck hot strangers they meet on the street, some people do heroin, chase a high because they know what it’s worth, despite the danger. And some people sit around thinking, I would never.
But she has this asshole baby.












































