driving home

driving home

Earlier today, I was driving home. It was just after noon, and I had a straight stretch of I-35 ahead of me. Music was playing at just the right volume, the road was clear ahead of me, and I felt filled with the possibility of everything.

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making the cut

making the cut

I keep hearing these phrases, over and over again, like they’re coming from that person in kindergarten who thought it was so funny to poke people with pencils and see the lead underneath their skin.

“Oooh, looks like she got some work done.”

“Why did she do that to her face? She looked good before.”

“There’s no way that’s her real butt. It’s gross.”

Well, just like 5-year-old me, I’m tired of people stabbing others.

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