I put on boots and jean jacket. Walk quickly because it’s cool. The old man working the dep takes his time refilling the Slim Jim display. A woman in front of me groans, doesn’t know the dance, it requires patience. He drops the salty meat a second time. We’re going to be here awhile.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
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