Monday, November 7, 2016

within three minutes of walking out of my apartment on the second floor, I'm overwhelmed with the eight am rush of tens of people off to their busy days of answering phone calls of annoying, bitter men complaining about the lack of service from their company, writing columns about yet another drunk teenager at Doug's or lecturing college students who don't care for the education their wealthy parents paid for. Luckily, I am off to my weekly pick up of green, sour, perfectly ripe apples which takes about four minutes to walk to and not off to a career of complete bull shit. 

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