Now "Mad World" is playing. It is 5:22 AM. The sun has risen. Outside a tall guy has opened the trunk of a minivan. He’s carrying into the cafe boxes. I’m hungry and depressed that I lost three dollars to a person who gave me glass dishes and glossy paper with my name written on it. Also my girlfriend’s name.
We have been in this cafe for eight hours.
I hate my life.
My girlfriend thinks I lie to her a lot. I don’t really. I can’t remember the last time I did. The only time I can remember lying to her recently is about my feelings and feeling sad or angry.
I just lied to her about reading something she says I didn’t read. I sort of did but not entirely. I think that counts as reading it. It probably doesn’t. I am a liar. How can I even be honest about my lying. Ha ha.
The guy who took my three dollars is back and he says he has money for breakfast. The money he has for breakfast is my money. I want to stab him in the head a bunch of times.
New York City is great.
“Like a Bollywood type movie?”
I hate everyone in New York City. I hate everyone everywhere else. I hate Brooklyn. I wish I never had to talk.
There are so many stupid conversations happening at once. Actually it’s only one conversation. It could easily be about thirty conversations. These thirty conversations are coming from the hot barista. I want to stab him in the head a bunch of times, too. I probably think his conversations are stupid because I think my girlfriend is going to have sex with him.
She probably will.
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