How Far Are We Away From This? When I Found Out, I Lost My Regained Faith In Humanity. Pediatric Cancer.
Someone put a doormat in front of my door(, Matt LOL!) and I have no idea who or why. Am I muddying up the hallways? Am I—oh, that has to be it. Unless I look like a guy who just needs something new in my life. Something to bid me farewell in the morning and welcome me home at night. Something to—huh, I wonder what that best friend humping a doormat sound coming from the hallway isHOW COULD YOU? Bryce, I-I thought you were my best friend—and doormat, I thought this was destiny. But now I know nonesuch thing exists. If there were a God, I’d advise you to beg for his mercy. Not that he’d ever bless this mess. Goodbye.Update: I think my neighbor gave me their old one.
“Hey, man. You know where the straws is at?”
I shook my head no. At least, I thought I did. It became clear I did not when my fellow Taco Bell patron informed me that I was asked a simple question.
“I have no idea.”
The thirsty teen moved closer to me and, despite the fact that I am not a straw, grabbed me.
“You one of those calm motherfuckers, aren’t you?”
I looked at his bloodied hand, which was resting on my shoulder and gave it some thought. More than I did his first query, which is to say some. And I did already—nice.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Tell me,” he began to squeeze harder, “tell me how to be calm.”
Before I could say anything he released me from his grasp and started boxing the air.
“Sometimes I just get so fucking angry. That’s why I’m here now. I got kicked out for punching a wall. I fucked that wall up.”
“Did you ever fuck shit up? Before you got calm and shit?”
“All the time,” I said. I did and still do. I mean, technically, it was morning and I was at Taco Bell, giving them money. Not all bloody knuckles have to be literal.
“How do you stop yourself from punching walls? I don’t want to punch walls. I’m not that, I don’t want to be that.”
“You just kind of, you just kind of… don’t.”
His eyes flared and he moved close again. Closer. I didn’t have time to guess whether I was going to be hugged or slugged before he was behind me.
I turned around. Better he get my face instead of my good side.
“The whole time! You were standing in front of the straws the entire fucking time! How the fuck do you not know where the straws are when you’re standing right in front of—are you high right now? Motherfucker, give me some weed!”
I took a deep breath.
“Taking a deep breath helps.”
Our fourth meals (tm) were not to be enjoyed in each other’s company.
-McDonald’s visor: No sun in my eyes, just wind in my hair. I’d probably flip it upside down so the “M” looks like a “W.”
-Subway polo: Green or black? Hm, how about both?! Collars popped, obviously.
-Starbucks cup: RHCP style, baby! There’s a bigger size than trenta, right? ;-) :-)
-Hushpuppies: Um, I said OUTFIT—didn’t I?