type slowly.


Posted in words by Lara Crombie on November 17, 2009

I remember holding $5 in change, trying to decide how to spend it:  laundry or dinner.  I chose lager.  As I paid in neat piles of quarters, the man behind the counter gave me a wink and a sad smile, like “hey honey, been there done that.”  I felt strangely compelled to share my entire life story.  But I didn’t; instead I thanked him (for what?  Selling me one bottle of beer or confirming my suspicion that nobody is consistently well-adjusted?).  As I was leaving I noticed that the customer behind me also had a single-serving beer, and a small bag of pistachios.  For one brief moment I felt relatively well-adjusted.


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