Thursdays - 12 AM
You thought it was fun. You thought you could just show up, plug in that aux cord, and click through your iTunes. You may have even thought you had taste. You thought this made you happy--from 2-4 am blasting another Incubus song you really wanted to pretend to like. You thought this was friendship. You thought this was music. You briefly entertained the idea of PC Music as a legitimate genre, of something that could maybe change the way you felt. You have plurality on your side. Many large muscular friends...and foes. That's what you crave, the perfect double-edged sword whose timbre is unaffected by your thoughts... But then you alienate everyone you love. You take the bull by the horns too brazenly. Your hammer-forged belt buckle collapses under the weight of your 100 gallon hat. 'Dude' isn't really that accommodating a term, especially because you interact with plenty of people who don't identify as such. It's time to leave the Ranch. Look inside and look around. The landscape is irrevocably ruptured; the plane is no longer level. I guess this is growing up.
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