Thirteen dollars for a day old croissant and a pack of cigarettes. The world’s gone to hell. But you can’t skimp out when it comes to necessities. I cut through a deserted intersection without looking any of the ways. I bite into my pasty only to see the centre is hollow. It’s better than nothing.
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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