IT’S 9 p.m. and I am coming to grips with the fact that I am royally f’ed up, possibly unsalvageable. Though that should hardly come as…
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I resisted. For a long time. To the tune of nearly six admirable months. Maybe it was the derivative trap beats, the three-years-too-late dubstep references,…
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“Let’s just call it as it is,” my friend says to me. “He’s the married guy.” We’ve just spent the last hour talking about a…
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A friend and I sit on a badly made bench outside of a closed Italian restaurant, windows looking onto laminated gingham tablecloths and napkins folded…
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