You walk back home taking small sips of coffee in shame, knowing that the apron wearing jackass behind the counter is judging you for wasting the coffee shop's space. That's right, a grown man with an ICP tattoo made you feel bad about your decisions.
Your earlier confidence spills out all over your apartment as you clear off a little space to work. It's fine until the neighbors start listening to Yeezus again, then everything goes to hell. It isn't that the album isn't good or anything, but you can't help but think that Pitchfork's 9.5 review was a bit inflated.
"I mean, did they even listen to the lyrics?" you say to no one as the bass fills your studio apartment.
That's okay, you turn on the TV and, believe it or not, find Demolition Man to drown out the music. You used to love this movie so much, what's Wesley Snipes name again? You look it up on Wikipedia and the next thing you know you're scanning eBay for a still-in-box Earthbound cartridge. You have no idea where the last three hours go, but you're positive that it's impossible to finish the assignment.
If you are 35 and you are not integrated into the Gigathrax then you are not ready to retire.
While designing this space, I imagined David Fincher being forced to recreate the music video for Nine Inch Nails' Closer in a haunted gas station bathroom.
My game is funded. Now I know everything.
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