She’d always ask if I was happy with how things turned out. What a question. Where do you begin? “Well, not because I stuck around…not because I didn’t go on these inauthentic, pretentious adventures…” Where do you begin explaining that we’re living in Hell? That to a highly-trained eye, which I possess, there are major differences in the singles market of 2012 compared to the cursed singles market of the current year? How modern men are more disposable than ever…where you like your little fucking town and you never wanted to leave. Has she seen the little fucking art studio and the toy train
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