Mr. Wilson can assign homework, but the douche bag can't make you do it, you think, cracking your first Natty Light. You down it, then another, then another, then another, and now you're out of beer. You start heading down towards your car to get more, but your roommate stops you. "Don't worry, I'm cool." You tell him. He makes you say it again before giving you ten bucks. He needs more beer too.
You make it about fifteen feet in your car before sideswiping an entire block of SUVs and rusted out Hondas. Focus, you think, stopping the car. If you do that again, you'll get caught by a pig. Just relax. You turn up Asher Rosh, smile when he says how cool college is, and then hit the gas, immediately driving your car into an oncoming minivan. Fuck this.
You put it in park and get out while the driver of the van opens her door and falls to the ground.
Are you concerned that you may be a character trapped in a Tom Waits song? Be smart and learn the warning signs before it's too late. Also, it's too late. It has always been too late.
I'm haunted by a recurring vision of a skeleton flipping me off. To avoid seeing this terrifying image in bumper sticker form, I pay someone with a blank bumper to drive in front of me at all times.
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