Your Driver Is Waiting

by Priya Guns

If those who have do not give, those who haven’t must take. a. sivanandan

There was a grime to the city, a spillage so toxic it smothered people that passed by. The air was far from fresh, but there we were, breathing in every bit of this manufactured life and asking for more. We couldn’t get enough. The city thrived on the dreams of the smothered.

Right now, a few people have a lot, some are just fine, most are struggling. As long as I’m alive, does it really matter where I am?

I’ve been big and I’ve been small.

Ok mitski

Dear gravity, do not have your way in my car, may thy will not be done and may all sugary drinks keep off my upholstery, forever. Amen.

Kenny screamed louder and I knew the devil was in him.

Lmao

“It’s each one for themselves,” said the man, handing me my bag. “And that’s exactly how they want it.”

People were different. You could share. You could be ridiculous. You could be you and feel so free just being. Who said communism couldn’t be fun?

young men who drove as if the only real meaning they had in their lives was when they pretended to be drag racers, driving aimlessly up and down the same street to prove they’ve got testicles. Vroom fucking vroom, they were that vacuous inside. I could understand the desire for speed but not the need for a good-for-nothing obnoxiously loud muffler. You know those guys with those cars, right?

Those who demonstrated in the mornings weren’t the same as those who demonstrated at night.

There is a sadness I feel and don’t often talk about. I don’t know how to fix it. It doesn’t excuse anything, but to add to all that, times were rough.

I’ve imagined the most irritating of my teenaged mutant passengers flying through the windshield. When they are alone, they are nothing. When they are in a pack, I want them all to die. (Of course, I don’t mean it literally, but who hasn’t ever thought it?)

“They’re singing for all the dying children.” “In the city?” “In Africa.”

Of course, I grew up knowing what spaces I could fill, where I needed to be slightly smaller, and where I could truly be myself.

How many times did I say I was tired in a given day?

“The thing about the fight for anti-racism is, as long as there is capitalism there will be racial exploitation. My freedom here doesn’t mean freedom for someone else back home, you know what I’m saying?”

“We need comrades, not just allies,”

I’m always exhausted. I’m made to feel like this world isn’t for people like me.”

“What happened to your street sign?” “Teenagers, probably,”

This book is so funny

“The transport company doesn’t give a fuck about you.”

Real

After him there was passenger 8, a Roxy (3.3 stars) whose big fat baby threw up on my seat, then had a runny nosebleed. A melody of “Oh my God, I’m so sorry” came from Roxy and my harmony of “It’s okays” made our song complete. I dropped her and the baby at a health clinic, $14.35 with a $10 tip,

Who tips isso interesting

there really is no trouble in being happy. When you live, truly live, you let go. You try new things, and you learn about yourself. There’s no making mistakes.”

I wanted to be one of those people holding megaphones, leading crowds into chants. I was useless in my car, even though I was essential and working in order to survive. I was nobody if I wasn’t there.

“My girlfriend is Brown. I mean, of course I get it.”

Nooooo

“Hmm. Maybe we could offer social justice training to the people qualified to manage, though.” “Sorry?”

wtf girlie

“For one thing, we aren’t ‘vulnerable.’ We’re robbed of the money we’re owed.”

Or Jolene, shaken out of her conversion to allyship, backslid into what she knew best. She didn’t think twice about it—it was too easy, almost natural. She knew exactly what she was doing and she actually thought I’d be okay with it. I was the exception. I was her validation.

Crime thrillers that pathologized the choices of a maverick detective wasting his good looks and charm for the supposed greater good in a spine-chilling tale of copaganda.

I can forgive myself for my mistakes. I can forgive her for her sensitivities.

Wtf

I was a woman who wasn’t going to take it anymore because I swear, I have taken so much already.

The vitriol we’re forced to hear is what spreads the hate. It’s this kind of paranoia that is infecting the youth—no, let me finish—into believing they ought to be some sort of social-justice warrior. There is no war to fight. There is no evil structure bot that must be destroyed. I woke up and that’s as woke as I’ll be. That’s it! We had the best of times in this country, and if we let these lunatics out there take charge then we’re destined for the worst. I’m tired of it,” said the man.

Gross

How Many Signs Do We Need—WE ARE FUCKED!!!

I’m not ready to make a public statement yet. But, I’m on here to ask for all your help. My friend needs us! Please donate what you can. Her mother is disabled and they both suffer with undiagnosed mental health issues. Come on folks! Donate!

WHAT

I will not be responding to any comments. I appreciate those of you supporting me and this great cause. I am still healing and recovering. #AllyBurnOut #solidarity #BLM

Stooooooop

Jolene was a sharer, but she’d never fathom giving up all that allowed her to share.