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"Why do you ask so many rhetorical questions?"

The drive home from anyplace you go is going to be an unnerving string of fragmented images, sounds, smells, etcetera, but all you can do is drive, you have to get to your next destination; we all have to get somewhere, eh?

The object of the game is to outwit everyone else, or maybe to out-think them, surpass them in the good looks or "I know how to dress" or something or other, after all, you HAVE to be good at something, don't you? Or will you fall through the cracks?

The more you stay, the farther you go away any love looks you in the eyes and you don't wait for the words you want to hear so much these days; you're friends find misery and become a bore, of course, you ponder if this boredom is really just a manifestation of your own loneliness.

Ah, looking back, we had dreams, big huge quivering coolness in our attitudes; smarter, luckier, more destined for greatness than all those random bodies rolling over the earth, heads down, miserable because they were blending in with the entire puzzle, those pieces of people.

"Deal me in," I say before I think about the consequences.

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