Whenever I’m feeling a little lonely, I just slip into my junkiest pair of gym shorts and some ratty t-shirt, fuck up my hair before forgetting to hide it with a baseball cap, and put on a pair of faded flip-flops – then head to the nearest grocery store. There, I will invariably and without fail run into numerous coworkers, acquaintances, family, friends, enemies, nightmares, and anyone who has been anyone in my life: a veritable who’s-who cornucopia of a cluster-fuck with me at the center of it all, dressed in sartorial-reputation-tattering rags.
Works like a charm every time.
Now, when I want to lay low, I just get all dolled-up and put on high hopes of having everyone see me and I will be completely left alone. That’s when it falls to strangers to stroke the ego and fan the flames of self-idol-dom.
This is the way of the universe, and the universe is nothing if not infuriatingly clever.
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