... 471
It’s all
going to hell. My friends…(friends?)…they have all, all but one, become
grown-ups. All they care to talk about, all they care to think about is
building and maintaining their own cocoons where they can bury themselves, where happiness is about finding diapers on sale, where there is no place for anything outside the banalities of day-to-day existence. It sickens me, it sickens me to the
point of suffocating in mute screams. I can't just exist, I co-exist - and there's no one left to co-exist with.
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