The street where I live?
Imagine if Charles Dickens described a typical working class neighborhood, but in the Midwest and not London. And in 2021. Then, Thomas Kincaid paints the street, but he’s been disillusioned and is in a bad mood.
That’s what a painting of my street would look like.
So, I had this thing happen. Super unpleasant. I can still feel it. You guys, we’ve been locked in so long now. It’s just stupid. I don’t mean that staying safe is stupid. Not at all. It’s just so fucking stupid to be in your own stupid fucking bedroom for a stupid number of months. I mean, We’re fine. Seriously. Fine, We’re fine. Anyway, we’ve made some...
So this happened. A conversation one never expects to have. Randy walked into the bedroom on a Wednesday evening. The weather is cold. We’ve been locked in forever. We’ve both had headaches and quite frankly, every one living in my house is getting on each other’s nerves. Randy: Hey? Did I shave off my eyebrows? Me:… Me:… Me: Dude. Me:… Me: Why the fuck did you...
